


Les insupportables

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: The Insufferables [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Experimentation, Platonic Cuddling, Science Fiction, Super Soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 17:55:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: Four soldiers, strangers to each other, join an experimental programme to enhance their physical abilities. But when things go wrong, and they're incarcerated, they form an unbreakable bond and unite against their foes.Colonel Jean Treville is their last hope for freedom. But can he tame a team so difficult to manage, they have been called 'the insufferables'?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The boys are in a highly charged relationship which is not sexual, but definitely one more intense than simple friendship. I don't see this as smarm because there is no No!Homo in this story. They would definitely fuck if circumstances allowed it, but they aren't and don't want to. Not yet ;)
> 
> Future stories may be m/m or m/f or multi. We'll see how they go :)

The young captain in charge of briefing Colonel Treville had a pile of folders in front of him, but Treville preferred to have a summary of the situation first. “Go ahead, and keep the jargon to a minimum, son.”

The lad flushed. “Yes, sir. As you know, the soldier enhancement programme was a huge success, and it was decided—”

“By whom?”

“General Richelieu, sir.”

“Of course.” The captain stared. “Keep going, son.”

“Oh. Yes. The general decided to authorise the next phase of the operation, which was to select individuals suitable for super enhancements. We had twenty volunteers, all previously unenhanced. Nine individuals survived the procedure.”

“Nine. Out of twenty.”

The captain swallowed. “Yes, sir. The female subjects were the most resilient and judged to be successful upgrades, although one was unsuitable for standard military operations. She has been seconded to the [DGSE](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Directorate-General_for_External_Security).”

Treville waited without reacting, which flustered the young man. “Right. The men also appeared to be successful. In all four, vastly increased speed, strength, stamina, endurance of hardship, pain tolerance, and healing rates were observed, well beyond the range of the normal enhanced benefits. Their IQs were raised by an average twenty points. However, in the field, these individuals revealed critical flaws which makes them unsuitable for standard military operations and working within a unit structure.”

“Go _on_ , lad. It’s not a mystery novel.”

“No, sir. The male subjects were judged to be highly emotionally unstable, prone to alcohol and drug abuse, resistance to following orders, unusually willing to fight—”

“Can’t have that in a soldier, can we?”

The man flushed again. “They were fighting other personnel, sir. For fun. Also they showed suicidal recklessness, poor impulse control, no respect for authority, and in one individual, hypersexualisation.”

Treville raised an eyebrow. “Soldiers traditionally have strong libidos, captain.”

“This one seduced every member of his unit, male and female, and made the wife of his commanding officer pregnant.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, sir. So the general decided it would be catastrophic to release such individuals from the military into the wild, so to speak, and has recommended either permanent incarceration or....”

“Or?”

The man gulped. “Termination.”

“Of four French citizens? Loyal soldiers?”

“Yes, sir. However, it was suggested—”

“By whom?”

“Er. Me, sir. Um, that you might have a use for them. The general said I could let you have their files and decide.”

“What did he _actually_ say, Captain Brujon?”

“Sir....”

“Try again.”

“He said, ‘The pain in my arse can take care of the pains in my arse.’ Sir.”

Treville snorted. “Sounds more like it. Let me have the files, son.”

The captain shoved them across the desk. “They’re being held in an old [IRBA](http://www.defense.gouv.fr/english/sante/biomedical-research/french-armed-forces-biomedical-research-institute) facility at Vert-le-Petit for now. General Richelieu did say if you can’t manage them, he prefers the termination option. He’s giving you six months to get them under control and make them useful. He says you have a completely free hand until then.”

“Kind of him. All right, captain. I’ll take them.”

“Without looking at their files, sir?”

“Captain, any man who can annoy Armand du Plessis enough to make him want to shoot them, is too valuable to waste. Besides, those flaws could be useful to me.”

“I should warn you that the four of them already have a nickname. ‘The Insufferables.’”

Treville smiled. “Let’s see if I can make them more sufferable within six months. Dismissed, captain.”

“Yes, sir. Good luck.”

Treville grunted, and opened the first file.

*************************

**Olivier d’Athos ‘Athos’ de la Fère.**

Aged thirty-five. Of the four, de la Fère was an anomaly. Elder son of a prominent and highly decorated French general, he graduated from Saint Cyr at the top of his group, and rose through the ranks to be promoted to major at thirty, collecting a slew of commendations and three decorations for bravery along the way. The man seemed headed for even greater things, but a years ago, his performance as an officer and a soldier suddenly deteriorated. Treville looked through the file for an event which might explain it—the suicide of his younger brother, an army captain, would do it, even without the death of his wife in a car accident on the same day.

Following those events, there were several notes related to concern over his alcohol consumption covering a period of six months, after which he joined the volunteer programme for advanced enhancement. “How the hell did he get selected?” Treville muttered to himself. Someone had pulled strings, but whether for the man or against him, he couldn’t tell.

After the experiments ran their course and the enhanced soldiers had been assigned to different squads, de la Fère had rated the highest for endurance of hardships, going an extraordinary ten days without food, water, sleep or even rest—and Treville was quietly horrified by trying to imagine exactly how and when this was demonstrated. His pain tolerance was almost off the scale. He had carried a fellow soldier ten miles on a broken ankle _and_ with a dislocated shoulder, and when he arrived at the camp where he sought attention for his fallen comrade, no one noticed he was injured for another two days.

Treville wasn’t sure ignoring serious injuries to that degree was a good idea for any soldier, but it was an incredible feat.

He turned to the next file.

**René Aramis ‘Aramis’ d’Herblay**

The oldest of the group at thirty-eight, graduated with good marks from Saint Cyr, never rose above captain, but his record was clean and carried nearly as many awards and commendations as de la Fère. A superior marksman before enhancement, he was reported by one superior to now be able to “shoot the balls off a mosquito at one hundred metres”. Before the programme, he had been well liked and well regarded. Two minor disciplinary offences connected to sexual activity had been noted before the enhancement. After the programme, he had apparently become sexually ravenous.

There were also two courses of treatment for depression, from which he seemed to have recovered well. The triggers had been a disastrous attack on his squad, and receiving news of a death within his civilian circle of close friends.

Treville rubbed his chin. How much of the apparently incurable side effects of the super-enhancements were pre-existing conditions? And why was General Richelieu so desperate to get rid of these two, let alone two more soldiers. He opened the next file.

**Paul Isaac ‘Porthos’ Du Vallon**

Regular infantryman, thirty-three, distinguished several times for bravery, admonished the same number of times for insubordination, and disciplined for fighting three times, the last involving a brief spell in detention. Now recorded as having strength equivalent to three men of his size, a dangerous love of brawling, and a gambling habit to match. Second highest rating of the four for pain tolerance and stamina.

Treville looked at the background—single mother died in his infancy, brought up in foster care, joined the army at eighteen. The army was his life _and_ his only family. The military depended heavily on men just like Du Vallon, and it was hard to imagine he was completely impossible to manage.

So to the last.

**Charles D’Artagnan**

Youngest of the group at twenty-five, had a short but impeccable career after graduating from Saint Cyr with good marks, ranked as lieutenant. Lost his father while at military college, otherwise had a stable and happy childhood as an only child. Mother now also deceased. A medal for bravery, consistently good reports, apparently a model officer. Volunteered for the programme, and left it stronger, fitter, faster—and with a love of danger that scared the hell out of his fellow officers and the men who served with him. Like d’Herblay, his impulse control was almost non-existent, and was lucky to be alive after charging a sniper nest with a broom.

Treville closed the files and spent the next two hours lost in thought. The most interesting aspect of the reports he’d read, apart from questions arising as to why these men had volunteered and exactly what had been enhanced or damaged, was that they had never served together or even met before the programme. But after they had been pulled off active service two months ago and held in ‘protective custody’, they had formed an intense friendship, one so strong that when on a couple of occasions, one had fallen ill, the other three had insisted on staying with him in medical. They slept in the same room, often in the same bed or on the floor, ate in the same room, and no one attempted to discipline or insult one without facing all four of them like angry musk oxen (the report had actually used that term). For all that, and despite d’Herblay’s sexual appetite, the four were not sexually intimate, nor had d’Herblay tried to seduce any of them.

So while they couldn’t work with other people, they certainly could work with each other.

Unusually close, unusually strong, unusually brave, and all of them excellent soldiers before the enhancement. If Treville wasn’t able to find a use for this quartet then he deserved to be discharged dishonourably.

He picked up his phone and made transport arrangements to Essone the following day.

*************************

The building that his taxi took him to looked like a prison, and not a particularly progressive one. It was, he’d found in his researches, a mothballed lab unassociated with the enhancement programme, with accommodation for ten patients and facilities for a similar number of researchers. There were no researchers there now, just guards and one doctor to keep the detained soldiers healthy.

Security was tight, as he would have expected, and no visitor weapons were allowed inside the facility, or by anyone entering the room on their own. Also expected, so he didn’t need the corporal apologising by saying, “I’m sorry, sir, these guys can turn a biro into a lethal weapon”.

Treville fixed the man with a look. “So can I, corporal.” The young fellow gulped and moved back a little.

He was shown to an armour plated door and his identity checked all over again before he was allowed through, and then yet another locked door was opened, and he was shown in. “Everything’s monitored, sir. Any trouble, and we’ll be in there in seconds.”

Treville waved the advice aside. This was more like a wild chimp house than a facility to keep people in.

Behind the door was what looked like a gym. Very high ceilings with skylights were the only source of natural light, and the room had various bits of equipment for fitness training. No weights though.

Not that the occupants needed it. One of them— _Porthos—_ was currently support two of the others up on his outstretched arms, while a third stood on his shoulders. The man wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Gentlemen,” Treville said in a normal tone of voice.

Without hurry, the men on Porthos jumped down gracefully, then the four of them advanced in a group towards him, forming a line in front of him. _Like musk oxen indeed._

“So the general’s made his decision,” one of them said. They all wore t-shirts and fatigue trousers, with no names or rank insignia, and all sported at least a month’s worth of facial hair. But the man’s refined speech made Treville think this had to be de la Fère. _Athos_. “Death by gassing or by shooting? Or will they just dart us with something to send us off to the farm in the country?”

“Come to attention, soldier,” Treville snapped. “The rest of you too. You’re still in the army, and I am a superior officer.”

None of them moved. “Superior?” Porthos said, grinning. “Prove it.”

Treville walked over and got in the man’s face. “I said, ‘come to attention’. Or are you just animals now, without any sense of honour or dignity?”

Porthos glanced sideways at Athos, and clearly receiving a signal, though Treville could not detect what, came to attention. They all did. “Not an animal. Sir.”

“Good. Name and rank, step forward and sound off.”

Treville’s hunch about the identities was confirmed. The tall, brown, very handsome young man was d’Artagnan, and the other, also very handsome in a quite different way, was Aramis.

“At ease, gentlemen.” They assumed the correct rest position. “I’m not here to lead an execution of any kind, though I’ll be frank and say General Richelieu has recommended that as a solution to the problem you present us with.”

“I’m completely surprised,” Aramis said, blank faced. “Are you surprised, Athos?”

“Not me. Porthos?”

“Hell no. Guy’s had it in for us since Aramis slept with his girlfriend.”

“I beg your pardon?” Treville said, genuinely shocked. “Du Vallon, explain.”

“Aramis spent a couple of nights with his mistress. The general didn’t like that. Guess he figured he’d get his revenge somehow.”

“The reports I have say you are all insubordinate, ill-disciplined, lacking in impulse control, prone to addiction and brawling.”

“That’s me,” Porthos declared proudly, winking at Aramis, who grinned.

“You’re unable to work within a unit, and refuse control by senior officers.”

“Indeed,” Athos drawled. “Hanging offences if ever I heard them.”

Treville felt a little ridiculous. Put like that, the idea that they needed to be terminated rather than just discharged was a gross overreaction. “There’s also a fear that, put out into the general civilian population, you would be a danger to anyone who crossed you.”

“And you drew that conclusion how, exactly?” This was d’Artagnan, with a challenging tilt to his chin. “Do our records show any civilian being injured by any of us at any time?”

“No—”

“No. It’s an insult to suggest it.”

“Total bollocks,” Porthos agreed.

“A put up job,” Athos said.

“Are you claiming, major, that you present no danger at all?”

“No, sir. If General Richelieu walked in right now, I’d certainly tear his balls off and use them for putt putt golf.”

Despite himself, Treville nearly choked on hiding his laughter. Athos’s expression didn’t change, but his green eyes glinted with mischief. “You all show poor self-control. What if there was a situation in Civvy Street you waded into? Du Vallon, can you really control that strength of yours when you’re angry?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmmm. D’Herblay, you can’t keep it in your pants. How do I know you won’t go on a rapist’s spree?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you say that, _sir_.” The man’s voice was icy.

“Evidence for rapes, nil. Evidence of attempted rapes, nil,” Athos said calmly. “Level of fantasy involved in accusation, masturbatory.”

Treville gave him a look. Athos said nothing more, but didn’t apologise either.

“If you were given honourable discharges, what would you do with yourselves? D’Artagnan?”

“Join the police, sir. Or some other service.”

“Du Vallon?”

“Same.”

“D’Herblay?”

“Find a charity or service I could work with as a medic, maybe MSF. Get back overseas and help people.”

“And, major?”

“Shoot myself.”

“Athos.” Aramis turned to him and grimaced.

“He doesn’t need coddling, Aramis. The army is my life now. Without it...boom.” He mimed putting a gun to his head and firing.

“And does this urge date from before or after the enhancement, major?”

For the very first time, Athos failed to meet his gaze, looking at this feet. “Before,” he mumbled. “Worse now.”

“Worse since the enhancement, or worse since you men were put in protective custody.”

“The latter, sir.” The admission sounded like he’d had to use a hook to drag them it out of his throat.

“Then counselling and psychiatric therapy would be a better option, don’t you think?”

“Tried it. Sir.”

Treville continue to stare until Athos lifted his head and looked at him. “The army isn’t therapy, major.”

“No, sir.”

“However, it may be that we have been remiss in not looking for a treatment that worked. If you stay in the military, will you kill yourself?”

Athos looked puzzled.

“Let me put it this way. If I give you and your three comrades a meaningful role, will you promise me to make no attempt to take your life, even by omission, and partake in therapy if a mode suitable to your issues can be found?”

“Yes, sir, I can promise you that. But they’ve already analysed us exhaustively.” A grunt from Porthos indicated what _he_ thought of that.

“Yet the reports I’ve read entirely omitted any reference to your being suicidal, major. Why was that?”

No answer. He looked at the others, who were similarly stony-faced. “What I think happened was that you all, being intelligent to begin with, and now even smarter than you were, knew what to hide about yourselves to get onto this programme, and to avoid being kicked out of the military once you had gone through it. You used your enhanced social skills and IQ to lie convincingly and it worked.” Still no reaction. “What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t use the same intelligence to restrain yourselves from acting like morons once you were placed in your units.”

Ah, now that got their attention. Porthos’s mouth was downturned in a grimace. Aramis’s eyes were cold. D’Artagnan looked angry—not much good at hiding his emotions then. And Athos wasn’t even trying. He was furious and didn’t care who knew it. “Gentlemen? I’m all ears. Major?”

“Did it occur to anyone upstairs to even think about where to put us? Sir? I mean, beyond just getting rid of us?”

“Elaborate?”

“What he’s saying,” Porthos said when Athos didn’t answer, “is that we was chucked into regular units with idiots who’d never worked with enhanced soldiers before, and didn’t give a toss what we needed, or what we could do. We were tacked on, kept idle, only sent out when there was no other hope, bored out of our minds the rest of the time, and none of the blokes wanted to know us. We scared them shitless. So were the officers. We done our best, but all that did was frighten them more.”

“And then they threw us out and into prison,” d’Artagnan said. “Even when we saved other soldiers. We weren’t heroes to them. We were freaks.”

“I read something about you and a broom, lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Charles,” Athos murmured. “Tell the nice colonel what he wants to know.”

D’Artagnan coloured. “Okay. We were on R&R in Mombasa and our hotel was attacked. We weren’t armed, but the hotel was under guard. The militants took them out and we were under fire. I saw a way to take down the main sniper so I took the chance.”

“With a broom.”

“Only weapon handy, sir. And it worked. The boss went spare. What was I supposed to do? Sit on my enhanced arse while our people were picked off? None of the others could have done it, but I’m faster, stronger, and I knew I’d survived the fall from the sniper’s lookout. He didn’t.”

“Thank you, lieutenant. Sounds as if, once again, the briefing materials are short on essential detail.”

Porthos snorted. “Ya think?”

“That’s ‘Ya think, sir’, sergeant. The reports didn’t exaggerate your insubordinate tendencies.”

Porthos turned his head to stare at him. “Being treated like a dangerous wild animal will do that to a bloke. _Sir_.”

Treville shook his head. “Right. It has been recommended to General Richelieu that you should either be incarcerated for the sake of the civilian population, or terminated—”

“Recommended by whom? _Sir_ ,” Athos added belatedly.

“I don’t know. Does it matter, major?”

“I’d like to know who’s so keen to ruin or end our lives, that’s all. You can understand how this might be of some small interest.”

And now Treville wanted to know too. “I’ll find out. Though the general favours termination, a third option has been offered to me—make you useful, make you controllable. I want to do that, but I can’t make you cooperate. I can’t do it without your cooperation.”

“If we don’t cooperate, it’s jail or death?” Aramis asked.

“At the moment, yes. Those are your only options. The enhancements aren’t reversible, and so far as we know, are permanent. The military offers you the only lawful structure in which you can hope to carry out meaningful work in service of France.”

“We could escape,” Porthos said.

“So why haven’t you?”

Porthos turned to look at Athos. “The major talked us out of it.”

“Why?” Treville asked Athos.

“Living as an outlaw is not honourable, decent, or safe. And I wanted better for the four of us than to be shot like dogs while on the run.”

“Now we’ll be shot like dogs in our beds instead,” d’Artagnan snapped.

“Yes. If the colonel doesn’t succeed, or he does, but Richelieu decides to ignore his success.” Athos looked back at Treville. “Which he will because he hates Aramis with a passion, and me for having a father who outranks him and never did take his shit.”

Now that answered a few questions. “On my honour as an officer and a gentleman,” Treville said, “if he takes that approach, I promise I will do all I can to get you away safe. But I can’t promise it’ll work.”

The four men stared at him with identical expressions, and Treville had never felt so examined in his life. Three of them turned to Athos, who nodded. Then they all looked at him again. It was creepy, like four robots with a single controller. “Very well, sir. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“And you promise to give me your full cooperation and best behaviour? No insubordination or disobedience?”

“Woof,” Porthos muttered.

“I think he means that you’ll get the obedience you earn, colonel,” Athos said. “Just like any other officer.”

“Cheeky shit.”

“If you want mindless drones who jump when you say and ask how high on the way up, the nearest army base will accommodate you.”

Treville raised an eyebrow at d’Artagnan from whom this insubordinate comment had come. “You, lieutenant, are definitely young enough to spank. Collect your gear. Wear civilian clothing. We’re moving out in fifteen minutes.”

*************************

“Fuck,” d’Artagnan breathed as the colonel left the room. “You better be right about him, Athos.”

“You prefer the alternative? Then by all means, stay. He said himself he can’t make us.”

“We could still make a run for it. Once we crossed the border into Spain or Switzerland, we could....”

Athos stood in front of his friend. “What, Charles? We’ve been over this. You have no support network, no family to turn to. None of us do, or we wouldn’t have volunteered for this in the first place. There is simply nowhere to hide, nowhere we can escape the surveillance of the state.”

“What about your father? He’d support you.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. Anyway, that’s not an option now. Not for me, and certainly not for you. You have two choices—stay and be imprisoned at best, or come with us, and face an uncertain future with the tiniest possibility of hope.”

“You trust him?”

“I do. Don’t ask me why, but I do. He’s the first person to speak to us as men since we came here.”

“Since before then,” Aramis said. “We were nothing better than trained monkeys to our units, or don’t you remember?”

“I remember,” Porthos said heavily. “So why aren’t we packing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We were on R&R in Mombasa" - if you detected a touch of Elvis Harte in this anecdote, I admit to being a shameless magpie :)


	2. Chapter 2

Treville enjoyed a good shouting match as much as the next man, but when it was to try and convince men much lower in rank to do their duty and obey his orders, it wasn’t enjoyable at all. “I have a signed authority from General Richelieu himself to do what I wish with these soldiers.”

“Sir,” one Sergeant LeJean said in a tone which boded ill for Treville’s blood pressure. “These are highly dangerous prisoners. We can’t allow you to take custody of them without a properly armed guard.”

“Did I just hear you say you can’t ‘allow’ a superior officer to do what he has express permission to do? Are you refusing to obey a direct order?”

“Not as such, sir—”

“Good.” Treville pulled out his service pistol and held it on the man. “Now give me their documents and personal items, and unlock the doors. _Now_ , sergeant, or I _will_ shoot you for disobeying orders. Do you understand me?”

“Sir—”

“Do. You. Understand. Me.”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“Move. Call the general if you want assurances, but you can bloody well do that after I have completed my business here.”

“Understood, sir.”

That had all taken up too much time, and arranging transport and a safe house for the four enhanced had taken even longer. He was later than planned when he returned to the gym. All four men were now dressed in clean clothes, with their backpacks standing correctly at their feet. They came smartly to attention when he walked in.

“All ready to depart, gentlemen? Then come this way and for God’s sake, keep your eyes open and your mouths shut. There are too many itchy trigger fingers out there.”

To his intense relief, the four soldiers walked out with exemplary decorum, eyes front, not a sound passing their lips. They ignored the provocation of rifles being swung their way and kept pointed at them, and waited at attention as the larger vehicle Treville requested was brought to the front gates. “Out,” he told the driver. “You’re not needed.”

“Sir—”

“Don’t make me shoot you, soldier. Out!” The man scrambled and Treville sighed. “Sergeant, you drive.”

“Yes, sir.” Porthos held the passenger door open for him, and the others got into the back without delay. “Destination, sir?”

“Head to the A19 going south, then the A10 towards Niort. I’ll give you more specific directions once we’re closer.”

“Understood.” Porthos started the engine, and they drove away from a place Treville doubted any of them would ever want to return to.

The trip to Niort would take nearly four hours without any stops, but there was a need to stop. He wanted them to have a chance to buy their own choice of food for lunch, use their phones if they wanted to, buy more clothes, cigarettes, confectionary, toiletries, or anything else they had been deprived of. “No booze,” he said as they head off towards the motorway services shops.

Athos turned and gave him a look. “You’ve been dry for two months,” Treville said in a low voice. “Think about it before you jump off the wagon. That’s all I ask.”

Athos nodded and followed his friends. Treville exhaled. Would they pass this first test?

To his relief, they did, returning nearly an hour later smiling, burdened with bags, but in no way behaving in a disorderly manner or attracting attention to themselves. Athos passed him a filled baguette and an orange juice.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Treville said.

“No. Which is the point, sir.” He smiled, and Treville grinned back.

“Well done. We’ll need to buy groceries when we arrive, but I think we’ll be all right tonight.” He climbed into the passenger seat. “Sergeant, start her up.”

Porthos turned his head. “Seeing how we’re all stuck with each other for God knows how long, you gonna keep calling us all by rank? Sir?”

“I’ll think about it. Just drive.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once they were on their way, Aramis tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, I think it would be only fair for you to tell us more about your background, and what you have planned for us. After all, you have our files. We don’t even know your first name.”

“Jean. And yes, it’s fair. What do you want first? Background or plans?”

“Background.” That was Athos. “Sir.”

“Very well. I have been in the military thirty years, and for the last ten have been with the Special Operations Command, lately with enhanced soldiers. For the last two months I’ve been desk bound in Pau.” He waited. Who would ask?

 _Aramis_. “Why? Were you injured? Sir.”

“I lost a team. Some of our very best people. A review said I wasn’t to blame but...I am to blame. I was in command. Richelieu couldn’t sack me, but he wouldn’t let me work with another team. I’ve been stuck reviewing supplies and leave requests.”

“Ouch.” That was Athos, quietly.

“So the general wasn’t doing you any favours siccing me onto you. I apologise for not telling you this before, but I thought you might want a few days of freedom before heading back to where I met you.”

“I’m not going back,” d’Artagnan said.

“Never,” Porthos growled. “Don’t care if you tell us we’re fuck ups and you can’t deal, cos I’m heading out and you won’t be able to stop me.”

“I know I can’t. Give me a chance, and I’ll do the same for you. I won’t try and take you back there for my failings.”

“What about _our_ failings?” Athos asked.

“If I think you’re a danger out there, I’ll shoot you myself. If not, I’ll do what I can to stop Richelieu doing what he has no damn right to do, even if his motives were pure.”

“Pure? Richelieu?” Aramis chuckled. “The only pure thing about him is his heart. Pure black.” Porthos grinned, although it wasn’t really funny.

“I think we should know more about this failed mission—how you lost your team.”

Treville couldn’t deny Athos’s request was reasonable. “Can it wait until we’re settled? Since we’ve established you’re not going back whatever I say, we should spend some time getting used to each other. And you gentlemen must surely want some time where you’re not locked up in a windowless cage.”

“Yeah. My suntan could do with a top up,” Porthos said, deadpan.

Their destination was a repurposed farmhouse, deliberately left derelict on the outside, but refurbished in utilitarian modern fashion inside. The basics were already there, with a selection of canned goods in the pantry. “Delicious,” Athos commented dryly, picking up a can of meat, then putting it down with a shudder.

“I won’t apologise. You’ve eaten worse.” Athos only arched an eyebrow at him. “Who cooks?”

Three hands pointed at Athos. “Looks like you’re it, major. Make a shopping list, and I’ll send them into town for the supplies tomorrow.”

“I prefer to choose my own ingredients.”

“Tough. This isn’t a _cordon bleu_ restaurant. Right. Pick your bedrooms, get sorted out. Athos, do the best you can for supper, and d’Artagnan can clear up. Aramis, make a shopping list of non-food items including clothes, first aid and medical. Porthos, check the security systems.”

“Are we on a first name basis now, sir?”

That ship had sailed, obviously. “Yes, Porthos, we are. But call me Treville. I prefer it.”

“Cheers, boss.”

Athos smirked. Treville didn’t react. He was going to be a lot greyer and balder by the time he was done with this lot.

*************************

Athos managed to make an edible meal from the canned meat, canned tomatoes, dried pasta and some tired herbs and spices. “Not my best work,” he said as Aramis dished up the meal.

“Smells good,” Porthos said, already stuffing his face.

“Million times better than that crap they were serving us,” d’Artagnan said. “Thanks, mate.”

Treville had also had better meals, but he was hungry and unfussy, and so far things were going as well or better than he’d hoped for.

The problems ahead had already become evident. The men’s enhanced abilities required enhanced activity, and within an hour of arriving, the signs of agitation from unexercised energy were apparent. Treville sent them off on a jog, which wore them out for all of half an hour, and chopping wood and other chores at least kept their minds off things. But once supper was over, even though it was growing dark, all four of them were pacing restlessly. “Should’ve brought the gym equipment,” Porthos muttered.

“Gentlemen.” They stopped moving and came to attention. “At ease. How can I help?”

“You can’t,” Aramis said. “We worked the gym equipment so hard it had to be replaced three times.”

“This isn’t normal.”

“Well, no,” Aramis said politely, as Porthos chuckled at Treville’s stupidity. “ _We’re_ not normal.”

“Is this one of the reasons for the brawling?”

“And the drinking,” Athos supplied. “And since there’s no booze....”

“Another run,” d’Artagnan said, the most visibly affected. The lad was jumping out of his skin. “Please, sir?”

“Then go. As far and long as you need, but be careful and take a flashlight. Stay off the roads.”

They were gone before he’d finished speaking. _Damn_. He wanted to know more about the actual details of their enhanced abilities—and what had killed those who hadn’t come through the experiments.

He couldn’t sleep until they returned close to midnight, and their attempts to refuel in the kitchen weren’t as quiet as they clearly hoped. He came downstairs to find them stuffing leftovers and crisps into themselves. “Sorry,” Porthos said, his mouth full. He swallowed and wiped his hands on his trousers. “It’s a pain in the arse.”

“Don’t apologise. Did the run help?”

“Yeah. At least it did for me. Athos?”

“Just about. I was at Secondigny before I felt I’d run enough.” Treville boggled. Secondigny was thirty-five kilometres away. “Afraid so. Wearing me out is just about impossible.”

“If I bought treadmills?”

Athos shook his head. “We tried them. They don’t make them strong enough for the running we do. They last a day at best, and don’t provide the exhaustion we crave.”

“Can you sleep now?”

“No. But it won’t kill me. I doubt much can, except several bullets point blank to the brain.” He didn’t sound happy about that. “Immortality is overrated.”

Treville wondered how much this was all taking off their lifespans. They were still human, their bodies the only material they had to burn. “For now, get what rest you can. If you need to run again, do so. You’ve proved you’re trustworthy so far as I’m concerned. I’ll need to make some calls tomorrow. I’m open to your suggestions.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The formality was a compliment, and to be treasured. Treville didn’t fool himself he had won their trust completely. Not yet.

*************************

They were gone when Treville rose at seven, but a polite note from Athos told him they would be back by nine, and were out on a run again. He used the time alone to send some urgent emails, and ask for files to be sent on a problem in Cameroon that had thus far cost France too much in terms of lives, and won nothing in terms of results. If these four men could solve it, Treville was convinced it would be their passport to freedom.

If they couldn’t, then at least they’d die honourably.

He received a phone call just after eight from Doctor Étienne Lemay, who had been involved in a review of the two enhancement programmes. “Colonel, those men must be returned to custody.”

“They’re not dangerous, doctor.”

“No, but they _are_ dying.”

“Come again?”

“They’re dying. Not as fast as the men who didn’t outlive the initial experiments, but just as certainly. There are several contributory factors, including an overaggressive inflammatory response. The vastly increased anabolic response also leads to an early breakdown of the normal productions of proteins.”

“In small words, doctor. I’m not a scientist.”

“Sorry. Basically their bodies makes things like new muscles and nerves much faster than you or me. The real problem is that the human body cannot be run that hard, be so repeatedly seriously injured, and not finally fail. Unenhanced first class athletes have exactly the same problem, because their speed and increased strength puts a terrible toll on their bodies, which are constantly having to repair the tears and injuries by replacing the damaged cells. In these men, part of what makes them so much stronger and faster is the ability to carrying out these repairs much more rapidly than unenhanced individuals. Such cell repairs—cell replication—means all of us inevitably accumulate errors as we age, but in these four, error accumulation is happening at a dozen times the normal rate or more, in all their tissues and bones.”

“And that means?”

“Essentially they will die of old age. But in a few years, not in decades.”

Treville sucked in a breath. “How long have they really got?”

“A year? Possibly two? At least in confinement we can give them palliative care, slow down the process by limiting their physical activity, reducing stress.”

Treville felt sick, thinking about it. “They won’t want to live like that, even to save their lives. Can the process be reversed?”

“I’ve been working on that since we learned what killed the other volunteers. At the moment, I have nothing. The changes are at the genetic level. We turned on around fifty genes that are normally inactive. Turning them off again is a lot harder.”

“But there have been enhanced individuals around for ten years.”

“Yes, and now we’ve discovered the price they’re paying. They’re not dying as fast, but they’re suffering from a range of autoimmune conditions, premature ageing, cardiac problems, arthritis, and bone tumours. My original remit was to find a way to turn off the first level of enhancements we undertook. Now I’m trying to help the survivors enhanced to the second level.”

“Jesus. And these four have no idea what will happen to them?”

“Not as such. But colonel, they’re clever. They’ll work it out.”

Treville closed his eyes. “I still believe they’re better out of confinement. They’re already happier.”

“Where are they now?”

“Uh. Running.”

“For how long?”

“Two, maybe three hours this morning. Many hours yesterday. They’re incredibly restless.”

Lemay hissed. “All you’re doing is killing them faster. They need sedation, eventually pain relief, and counselling.”

“You forget I saw the kind and gentle approach to their care at Vert-le-Petit. They were caged and treated like animals. No counselling at all, no sedation, not the slightest concern for their welfare so far as I could judge. Were you told otherwise?”

There was a long pause. “I recommended better. If you return them, I promise it _will_ be better.”

“No, you set up better and I’ll offer it to them. These men want to serve, not live in a _de facto_ hospice. They deserve a chance to do that.”

“Colonel—”

“No, Doctor Lemay. You keep working on a cure, and if necessary, end of life care. I’m going to give these men the best life I can until they can’t cope any longer.”

“Will you let me examine them?”

“If they consent, of course. Uh, another thing. One of them apparently fathered a child after treatment. D’Herblay and his commander’s wife?”

Lemay tsked. “Impossible. All four reported impotence and complete lack of libido. And d’Herblay had a vasectomy before he entered the programme.”

“Look into it anyway, please.” Where had the reports of hypersexuality come from then? “And, doctor, I want the unedited reports of their treatment and the results. What I have has been creatively edited.”

“I’ll do my best. I’ll let you know when I’d like to visit them, if they consent.”

“Thank you.”

Treville hung up. Every time he sent soldiers out on a mission, he accepted that some of them might die. Probably would die. But this was different.

He considered calling them to ask them to come back, but they were probably already on their way, and why spoil what little fun they might have. But what to do with them?

And what the hell was behind that story on Aramis?

The four returned just before nine, barely breathing hard. “Showers,” Treville said as Athos looked about to be polite and join him in the kitchen.

Freshly showered, they were a lot more fragrant. Athos had obtained eggs, bread, milk, olive oil, sugar, and coffee, so _pain perdue_ was on the menu. He cooked rather well, Treville had to admit.

“So, I imagine supplies are our next priority,” Aramis said, sitting back with a cup of coffee in his hand, looking like a man well pleased with life. “We won’t need the car.”

“Take it anyway. You don’t want to be too conspicuous. Athos, I need you to remain. There are things to talk about.”

“Sir.” Athos’s expression closed off.

Treville felt like apologising, but what for, he wasn’t sure. “Clean up, gentlemen, and I’ll give you some cash. Spend wisely—I don’t have unlimited resources.”

“All that money in my bank account and I can’t touch it,” Porthos said mournfully.

“I’ll arrange for that, for all of you. But this is mission supplies. You shouldn’t have to pay for that. Take your time, enjoy yourselves. Just stay out of trouble.”

That cheered the big man up a little, and twenty minutes later, they set off, leaving Treville and Athos alone in the kitchen. “Why do I think I’ll need a bottle of brandy to get through what you’re about to say?” Athos said, refilling the kettle.

“Because it’s bad news. I’m taking the coward’s route of telling you, so we can decide how to tell the others.”

“Suspected as much.” Athos stood with his back to the counter, arms folded. “What is it? Cancer?”

“Worse. I’m sorry.” He told Athos what Lemay had told him, in as many words. “You’re a highly refined machine with a short use by date. When you break down, that’s it. How fast you break down, depends on—”

“How fast I run.” He ran his hand through his hair. “And no cure.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever. Options?”

“Return to custody under better conditions with the hope of extending your lives and offering you palliative care. Stay at liberty until your health deteriorates past the point of independent living.”

“Or going out in a glorious final mission, with the hope of death in action and making one last contribution. So, to that end, what do you have in mind, sir?”

“Athos, you admit you’re suicidal. Don’t make a choice for the others.”

“I’m not.” Treville jumped a little at the man’s angry tone. “Sorry. I just know how they’ll feel. Whether I’m suicidal or not is moot. The choice has been made for me.”

“There’s still a chance of a cure.” Athos gave him a look which told Treville how little he thought of such sophistry. “There is.”

“I should live so long.”

“Indeed. But if you want to know the details of a possible mission, make that coffee, and sit down.”


	3. Chapter 3

The need to move, to exert himself, was like a painful itch at the back of Athos’s head and all over the rest of his body. It was not unlike the urge to drink which came on him every so often with a force that made his eyes water. But in light of what Treville had told him, he thought it best to conserve his resources.

Despite the bad news, he wasn’t surprised, or even that sad. Not for himself, anyway. For d’Artagnan, certainly, and Porthos too. Aramis would take it in his stride, because his own miseries had driven him in search of anything to ease the pain, and like Athos, might well find the idea of an honourable death appealing. Certainly more appealing than lying around, drugged to the eyeballs, and waiting for the mercy of oblivion. But their two youngest...what a bloody waste.

Athos had no one to tell, no one to say goodbye to. He’d made his will before he entered the experimental programme, and his parents would not expect him to make old bones. They understood, with his father being a soldier, and his mother formerly with the military as well. The death of Thomas had sucked the life out of all three of them, and Anne dying had been Athos's own special punishment for his failures.

Treville and he had decided to let Athos tell the others, and then let them quiz the colonel if they needed to. It wasn’t going to horrify them, he already knew. Their long-term survival had been a subject of speculation right from when they entered the programme, and d’Artagnan, brightest of them all, had already guessed something close the truth. They hadn't realised the attrition rate had been so appalling, though. Athos had only wanted redemption and a way out of the hell his life had become. Now he would get one for certain, and maybe the other.

Fuck it, he wanted a drink. Restraining for the sake of his health seemed rather amusingly pointless right now. But Treville had shown them trust and decency, so Athos could do nothing else but return that in full measure.

_Fuck it._

Not moving, not doing something, was making his heart beat twice as fast from stress. He was _wired_ for action now. All he was doing was revving his engine to no purpose. He went outside and found the woodpile. His first whack with the splitter sent the pieces shooting off into the yard. Fortunately he wasn’t Porthos. The block would have been pulverised.

He tried controlling his swing, which worked better, and concentrating on that helped the itch. He became so absorbed, he only realised he was under observation when a stray chip flew off and caused a startled yelp. He straightened up and turned around. “Sorry.”

Treville shrugged. “My mistake. That woodpile won’t last you a day.”

“I know.” He put the splitter down. “Weight lifting is good but they wouldn’t give us weights. We could use them as weapons, you see.” Treville raised an eyebrow. “Of course, we could have killed them and escaped with nothing but our bare hands. Disassembled gym equipment would work just as well.”

“Damn fools.”

“Yes, we were. I should have let the others run.”

“I meant the guards. You were right to stop them, Athos. Soldiers need a command structure, clear orders.”

Athos wiped his brow. The day was warm. Beautiful, even. “They need something to _fight_ _for_ , sir. D’Artagnan only wanted to help those weaker than himself, to do something really worthwhile. And Porthos is a born soldier, but with a heart of gold. Aramis...is complicated.”

“And you?”

He huffed out a laugh. “To please my father. You couldn’t guess that?”

“You could have done ten years and left the army, honour intact.”

“I suppose I found it suited me better than any alternative.”

“Until your brother died.”

Athos picked up a block of wood and hurled it. It landed a good hundred metres away. “Yes.”

Treville’s expression didn’t change. Athos admired that ability. “The file said suicide.”

“Yes.” This was none of Treville’s business. “I can hear the car.”

Treville cocked his head. “I can’t hear a thing.”

Athos just tapped his right ear. “Trust me.” He picked up the splitter. May as well finished what he started. Treville could watch or not. Up to him.

A minutes later Treville straightened up. “There it is. You must have heard them at least a kilometre away.”

“Yes. Aramis has better hearing than me, as well as better eyesight.”

“Incredible. If only it didn’t come at such a price.”

“We are all Icarus, colonel. The price of exceeding our earthly limitations will always be high. I should clean up.”

He went inside and washed his face and hands, and prepared himself for a difficult conversation.

*************************

Treville sat in the garden while Athos gave his comrades the bad news. He couldn’t hear any shouting or arguing from inside, although for all he knew, they could communicate in bat squeaks now. He was a coward pushing it onto the other officer, even though Athos assured him this was the best way. They deserved to hear it from him. They deserved the truth from Richelieu himself, but if there was anyone more cowardly than Treville himself, it was the general.

It was nearly an hour before Athos emerged, followed by a downcast trio. “I’m sorry, lads,” Treville said.

“Not your fault,” Porthos muttered. “At least you got us out before we died. I can see the sun for a bit longer.”

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan said, mouth turned down miserably. Aramis put his arm around the lad’s shoulders. “Anyway, Athos says you’ve got a job for us.”

“I do. What you all need to know is that this is the mission I lost my last team on.”

D’Artagnan pulled away from Aramis and threw his hands in the air. “This day just gets better, doesn’t it?”

“Charles,” Athos murmured and went to his side, putting his arm around d’Artagnan’s shoulders. He drew the kid away and spoke quietly to him. Porthos threw himself down on the grass, back to the rest of them and appeared to be lost in thought, contemplating the hedge.

Meanwhile, Aramis sat on the bench next to Treville and glared at him. “You didn’t tell Athos?”

“I did. But he wanted me to tell you. Aramis, you won’t be going back to confinement if you say no. At this point, I wouldn’t order you to make lunch. But I believe your special skills might make a difference. The difference between retrieving ten terrified women, including four nuns, and leaving them to be repeatedly raped.”

Aramis leaned back. “Nuns?”

“Yes. Six months ago, a Catholic school in Cameroon was attacked by Islamic militants and the nuns and six teenage girls taken. Two of the adults are French citizens, one is Irish, and the other from Cameroon. We’ve been tracking militant movements and three months ago we got a solid tip on where the women were being held in a jungle camp in the Republic of the Congo. I sent my best people in, but the militants tore them apart. There were three times as many soldiers present as we believed there would be, and much better armed. It was a slaughter.”

“It was a trap.”

“Yes. We did due diligence, but sometimes we just have to take a chance.”

Aramis stared out at the fields. “What makes you think the women are still alive?”

“The fact that the militants haven’t claimed their deaths. Killing white Christian foreigners would be too good for them not to boast about.”

“These bastards need taking out anyway.”

Treville turned to Porthos, who’d apparently been listening in to their quiet conversation. “They do. The captives are top priority, but destroying this cell comes close second. I wouldn’t send anyone else in if I didn’t think the women were still alive though.”

“So let’s do it.”

Treville cocked his head at d’Artagnan and Athos. “It has to be a team decision.”

“Athos? D’Artagnan? You in?”

The two men turned. D’Artagnan still looked upset, Athos’s mouth set in a grim line. “Yes,” Athos said. D’Artagnan nodded.

“Are you sure? Aramis?”

“Of course. We can’t let women be used as sex slaves by these monsters.”

“You understand that the chance of success is less than twenty percent. And the team I lost were enhanced too, though not like you.”

“If they know we’re coming, it’s a suicide mission,” Athos said.

Treville didn’t say anything. They needed to work this through.

“What do we have that lifts the chance of success to twenty percent?”

“Your abilities. Your extensive experience. Knowledge of what firepower and personnel they can muster.”

“How do you know this if your team all died?” Aramis asked.

“They didn’t all die in the jungle. Two were medevaced out, but died in the military hospital in Libreville."

“They’ll have moved,” Porthos said.

“Yes, they have, but we’re pretty sure where they are. There will be scouts, guards of course, but with Athos’s hearing, let alone all of yours, you can evade them by sound. Or smell.”

“We’re not invincible, Treville,” d’Artagnan. “A [FAMAS F1](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FAMAS) will kill us same as they’d kill you.”

“I know that, son.”

“So this is just another way of disposing of a dirty little secret. Lose us in the jungle, lock us up in a disused lab, shove us into military prison, shoot us in the head—what fucking difference does it make?” D’Artagnan’s voice grew loud. Athos put his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “No, Athos, I want him to answer. What difference does it make?”

“What difference does it make to _you_ , d’Artagnan? Out of all those alternatives, which would mean the most to you, seeing that you’re dying anyway?”

Aramis hissed. “Cruel, colonel.”

“Yes, it’s cruel. It’s also the truth. So answer me, lad. Which do you prefer? It’s your choice. You can stay here as long as you’re able, if it’s in my power to make it happen. But that’s it.”

“We can leave. You said we can leave. Athos, I want to go. I don’t want to die like a dog just to make their life easier. Help us. Please,” d’Artagnan added in a whisper.

Athos wrapped him in a hug. Treville climbed to his feet. “I’ll give you all some time. I’ll take the car. Athos has my number when you want me to return.”

He drove away, thinking he handled this rather badly. He didn’t blame himself. There was one person responsible for it, and for a centime, he would drive to Paris and run the bastard over in this very vehicle. He headed for town and bought a coffee which he drank while checking his emails. Lemay had come through with the detailed reports, but he couldn’t read those on his phone. The latest intelligence on the militants’ camp in the Republic of the Congo indicated they hadn’t moved from the last position reported. Nothing on the women, but then the satellites weren’t interested in them.

He wished he still smoked. He wished he hadn’t given up drinking years ago. Athos didn’t know, and would never know that his new boss had been a bigger lush than Athos could ever hope to be. Chewing gum was bad for his fillings, and all in all, his oral fetish had been underserved for a very long time. But at least his stress levels weren’t likely to kill him in months. Not like those of the poor bastards back at the house, any one of whom was a better man on his worst day than Treville could aspire to.

He called Lemay again. “Thanks for the files, doctor. Give me your honest opinion—if I send these men on a difficult, dangerous mission and they somehow manage to survive, how many weeks am I cutting off their lifespan?”

“I can’t possibly answer that, colonel.”

“Then answer this. Is there anything we can do to make sure it takes as little off their lifespan as possible?”

“I need time to answer that. Are they sleeping?”

“Athos says he’s not. No idea about the others.”

“We can sort that with drugs. Get the basics right for a start—good food, plenty of sleep to help their bodies recover, keeping them active without overdoing it. How did they take the news?”

“Badly. You can imagine why.”

“Poor sods. I should come down, let them ask me what they want to know.”

“Yes, agreed. But quickly, doctor. If they agree to the mission I have in mind, I want to leave in less than two weeks.”

*************************

Athos was conscious that Treville was waiting to be recalled, and had been for at least an hour, but right now, he wasn’t welcome. D’Artagnan had taken the news the hardest, but Porthos was little better. Even Aramis was simmering, which he hadn’t expected. They’d separated, needing time to think, Porthos going off with Aramis. D’Artagnan had returned to Athos first, and had wanted to sit silently, Athos’s arm around him. The boy’s heart was naked and bleeding, without the armour the others had around theirs. Athos could just about remember when he had been the same. D’Artagnan now wouldn’t live long enough to build a wall to protect his emotions.

When Aramis and Porthos rejoined them in the garden, d’Artagnan spoke. “It’s not that I’m afraid to die.”

“I know, Charles. We all know that. Your bravery isn’t in question.”

D’Artagnan clenched his fists. “I wanted to make a real difference. I didn’t sign up to this stupid experiment so I could throw my life away on some hopeless mission that Treville doesn’t even believe in enough to order us to do it.”

“He doesn’t want to make the choice for you,” Aramis said. “You have to respect him for that.”

“Do I? If he really believes we can save those women, he’d tell us to go. Suck it up and get the hell over to Congo. He isn’t. This is just occupational therapy for the terminally ill.”

“I don’t think—” Athos started to say, but d’Artagnan cut him off.

“I’m twenty-five. I thought I’d have twenty years at least to serve France, do some good. I wished I’d died like the others.”

“God has a plan for you,” Aramis said. Athos winced. D’Artagnan rounded on his older comrade.

“Oh, does your God need another angel?” He put his hands together in a pantomime of prayer, then clenched his fists again. “You can shove that.”

“If we can save those women though,” Porthos said. “It’d be good work. A cause worth dying for. Don’t forget there are six girls. Kids.”

“He doesn’t really believe we can do it, though,” d’Artagnan said. “It was all he could come up with short notice. Seriously, he’s going to send four renegades, four dangerous maniacs, on a mission this important? Maybe he thinks he’ll get out of desk duty, but I doubt he’s planned that far ahead.”

“Then why don’t _we_ plan it? We can do this,” Athos said. “Because you’re right. He pulled it out of his arse because he wanted to offer us _something_. But what else can he do? Anything else, we’d need to work with regular soldiers, and we’ve tried that.” The other three grimaced on cue. “So. We have the training. We have the skills. We have these damn abilities. We make this work, and if we die trying, we will have given it everything we have, and be proud of it. I for one, do not intend to die trying. I intend to succeed.”

“And die,” d’Artagnan muttered.

“Always a risk. But if you go into the field with me, and I’m the senior officer, then my primary duty will be to get you in and out safely.”

“If we go in, we get the women out,” Aramis said. “ _Then_ ourselves.”

“I rather took that as read.” Aramis had the grace to look a little abashed. “I know what I said back in Vert-Ie-Petit. I have nothing outside the army. Neither do any of you, or you wouldn’t have signed up for the programme. But in the army, I have my duty. I have civilians to protect and the enemy to defeat and defend against. And I have you. I’m not losing you three until I’m forced to with my last breath.”

D’Artagnan clasped Athos’s hand. “Same here.”

Aramis reached over and put his hand over theirs. “And here.”

Porthos rose and crouched near them so his hand could overtop the other three. “And here. All for one.”

They spoke together. “And one for all.” The oath had kept them sane ever since they'd been imprisoned.

“I’ll ask Treville to come back, shall I?” Athos asked.

“Do it,” d’Artagnan said. “But I’m warning you now, I’m not pretending to believe his crap.”

Athos clasped his shoulder. “None of us will.”

*************************

Treville was being muskoxed again. Four identical stubborn expressions, the four men facing him with arms folded, shoulders set. “I take it the answer is ‘no’, then.”

“No, sir. We’ll do it,” Athos said. “But be honest—did you just think this up as a way to distract us from dying?”

Treville blinked. “Why on earth would you think that? No, I didn’t. As soon as Richelieu made the offer to work with you, I immediately thought of this rescue. If anything, the medical information made me less certain that I should ask you to go on it.”

They all relaxed minutely. _Ah_. “Gentlemen, I feel for your situation, but there’s no way in hell I’d risk the safety of those women just to make you all feel loved and needed. There are kittens for that.”

Porthos grinned, and d’Artagnan glanced at Athos, smiling a little. “So is that your biggest concern?” Treville asked.

“No, but it’s good to know. Our main worry is that the chance of success is so low. We’d like to bring it up to at least fifty percent, for the sake of the captives.”

Now Treville relaxed. “Of course. I’ve purchased tablets for you all, and once you’ve set them up, I can share the files with you. The camp where we think they’re located is still being used, though I can’t promise you the captives are still there. It’s likely though. Let’s look over the intelligence and you can give me your thoughts.”

He handed out the equipment and they gathered in the dining room to set up the devices and download the information. He also handed out the pastries and cakes he’d bought, and the four men made short work of them. He’d loaded up on other food for them like nuts and chocolate, energy bars, anything he could think of to feed their racing metabolisms. They could endure starvation much more easily than he could, but until they had to, he didn’t want them to.

“Dr Lemay is coming here tomorrow to answer any questions you may have, and to give me some advice on helping you cope better with the mission stresses, and your condition generally. If you consent, he’ll take blood and tissue samples, and run some tests. _Only_ if you consent.”

“He’s the one working on a cure,” Athos said to the others.

“Waste of time,” Porthos said.

“We don’t know that.” Treville pulled his laptop towards him. “Now, you will have the latest satellite images.”

They spent three hours poring over the data, taking a short break for lunch and coffee, but talking about the mission all the while. Only Athos and Porthos had experience with the rainforest and knew what the conditions would be like, but all of them had worked with night vision equipment and with covert ops teams on night missions. “We can equip you in France and give you a couple of days with a specialist trainer,” Treville assured them. "Just to sharpen you up."

He suggested that the drop should be about twenty-five kilometres from the camp. “Normally we’d try for closer but I know you can cover that distance easily. What do you think?”

“Makes sense,” Athos said. “They won’t expect anyone to be coming from that far away, even if they know the helicopter is around.”

“And this way we can avoid a night drop. No point in increasing the risk unnecessarily.”

“How do we get the women out? They might not be able to walk far,” Aramis asked.

“If you secure the camp, we can airlift from there. If you can’t, get them clear, and we’ll perform an airstrike, then pick them up.”

“If only some of them are unable to walk, we can carry them,” Athos said. “At least clear of the camp.”

Treville nodded. “The terrain probably won’t let you get them much further than two kilometres, but that’s enough. If they survive, and you don’t, if they at least have some of your equipment they can radio us, and we’ll use the GPS to locate them. That’s not ideal though.”

“Really not,” d’Artagnan murmured. “Natural dangers? Wildlife?”

Porthos ruffled his hair. “Scared of snakeys, are we, Charles?”

“Fuck off,” d’Artagnan said without rancour. “Never been in a proper jungle before.”

“It’s not really. It’s a mixture of re-growth on previously cleared land, some still in use for farms, some partially cleared, and some virgin stands. There are tracks and routes all over if you know where to look.”

“What about a guide?” Athos said.

“Who can keep up with you? We don’t have one. But there are local experts who can tell you what to look out for and what to expect. Apart from being careful where you bivouac or step, your main worry is the wildlife giving away your position. Oh, and elephants.”

“Elephants?” Aramis asked, a little squeak in his voice.

“Big grey things with trunks? Scared of mice?” Porthos said, grinning evilly. “Can rip you in half soon as look at you?” Aramis went pale. “Yeah, we need to avoid them.”

“And local civilians?” Athos asked. “You mentioned farms.”

Treville shook his head. “Avoid at all costs. You’ll move at night so you won’t encounter ordinary people. If you do encounter someone, they’re probably a militant. But the chances are low until you reach the road they’ve been using. We know they have that guarded night and day.”

Immobility eventually became too burdensome for them, so Treville sent them out for a short run. He didn’t need to belabour the point about why it had to be short.

While they were gone, he made more phone calls and arranged for them to stay at Pau for a few days for the fitting out and training. He couldn’t pretend the chances of success had risen to the desired fifty percent, but he felt more positive about it without being able to quantify it. Another two soldiers with similar abilities would significantly raise the chances of retrieving the captives and of the men returning, but he only had the four. With them, the captives still stood a much better chance of getting out, but he had no idea if the ‘insufferables’ would return alive or at all.

He felt like a run himself. Damn, he wished he could go with them. He’d done his fair share of field missions but that was a long time ago. He couldn't keep with these men now even if they weren’t enhanced.

They were back in an hour, but still needed to burn off more energy. Porthos had bought a football on their shopping run, so the back garden became an impromptu football field. With a bit of urging, Treville agreed to join them for a kick around, but even though they were clearly restraining themselves to accommodate him, they still ran him ragged, dancing around him with a speed and agility he could only watch with awe. Knowing the price they had paid for it, he didn’t envy them, but there was no denying the grace of their movements, the casual ease with which they handle their abilities.

Such good men, all doomed. Treville finally had to excuse himself to go inside and wipe his eyes in privacy.

Once he composed himself, he went into the kitchen to fill a jug with water, thinking to take it and glasses out to the garden. But Athos was already there, with d’Artagnan, putting together drinks and snacks. “Go on and take that,” Athos said to d’Artagnan, smiling at him. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

D’Artagnan grinned, briefly leaning in to rest his head against Athos’s, before taking the tray and leaving the room. Athos turned to Treville. “Sir?”

“You and d’Artagnan are very close.”

“Are you asking if we’re lovers?”

“No. Just making an observation.”

“We’re not lovers. None of us have the least sexual interest any more. But we need physical contact. So far as that goes, d’Artagnan is a delight to hold and be held by. If you want to say we’re in love, you can. But....” He shrugged. “We all feel that way about each other.”

“Non-sexually?”

“Incapably,” Athos corrected with a wry look. “I couldn’t get it up for Sophia Vergara or Daniel Craig.”

Treville snorted with amusement. “Thanks for that image, major. Tell me though—the reports on you said Aramis was displaying hypersexuality. Got his boss’s wife pregnant, seduced a squad—that doesn’t match with what Lemay said or what you’ve just told me.”

Athos’s eyebrows lifted. “I know nothing about that. His commanding officer’s wife, you mean?” Treville nodded. “Richelieu’s mistress.”

“Wait, his mistress is married?”

“To a subordinate officer too. If anyone got her in the family way, I doubt it was Aramis. _Cherchez le général_ , I suggest.”

“My God.” Treville stared out at the garden through the window. “He’s literally trying to murder Aramis to cover up his own sins.”

“So it appears. Not that it does any good, and anyway, does it matter now? I mean, since we’re all buggered.”

“He shouldn’t get away with it.”

“No. But forgive me if I can’t exactly give much of a damn. If we’re lucky, we’ll live long enough for him to shoot, but I don’t like our chances.”

Fifty years of emotional reticence were hard to overcome, but he wanted to hug Athos. “You won’t be forgotten. I can at least promise the truth will be told about what happened to you.”

“Thank you. Although I don’t think it’s worth going to prison for.”

“I’ll find a way.”

Athos huffed what sounded like a laugh. “I have no doubt you will. In the meantime, let’s go feed them.”

Treville put his hand on Athos’s shoulder. “Wait.” Athos cocked his head. “If I had been there to take you to your execution, or if someone else had, what would you have done? You stopped the others running away. Would you have gone meekly to your death?”

“No. Frankly, I thought that wouldn’t actually happen. I hoped someone was trying to find a way of using us properly. At least, for the first month, I believed that. After that, I wasn’t sure. We would have fought our way out, or died trying.” He smiled slightly. “Can I say I’m glad we didn’t have to?”

“Me too. Go on, I’m right behind you.”

*************************

Porthos’s football got a workout that evening. It was no substitute for hard physical exercise, but all of them understood the reasons to avoid that. Unfortunately, it meant Athos’s chronic insomnia was fully in charge by the time he and his brothers called it a night, despite the emotional exhausting day. By unspoken agreement, they all ended up in Athos’s bed, d’Artagnan to his right, Aramis to his left with Porthos behind him.

“I’ll probably keep you awake all night,” he murmured against d’Artagnan’s ear.

The lad turned around and pulled Athos’s head against him, encouraging him to rest his head against d’Artagnan’s long neck. “Not a problem for me. The boss said this doctor will bring sedatives. Should help.”

“I hope so.”

“I miss wanking,” Porthos said.

Aramis sighed. “I miss sex full stop. Not the orgasms so much—the orgasms are _delightful_ of course—but its the intimacy I crave.”

“This isn’t intimate enough for you?” Athos asked. He needed to ask him about Richelieu’s mistress.

“Too many clothes,” Aramis said. “This is nice but it’s not the same as lying with your lover. Just like it’s not the same as holding a newborn in your arms as it sleeps. It’s all beautiful but...being with someone who’s prepared to be vulnerable, to let you penetrate them or them penetrate you, who trusts you that much. It’s the most wonderful thing in the world.”

“I’d let you fuck me,” Porthos said in a low rumble. Athos grinned.

“Thank you, my friend,” Aramis said graciously. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I would also,” Athos said.

“And me,” d’Artagnan said.

“Gentlemen, I’m honoured.”

“So long as we all get to fuck you too,” d’Artagnan added.

Athos held his breath, waiting for Aramis’s answer.

“I would be _truly_ honoured. If the situation improves, I hope to take you up on that one day.”

Porthos chuckled. “Bullshit. Admit it, you’re terrified.”

“Shaking in my boots.”

Athos could practically hear the grins on their faces. “Might be fun,” d’Artagnan whispered. “I’ve never had sex with a bloke before. Kissed a few though. I’m up for anything at least once.”

“If you can only do it once, I’m sure Aramis would make it a night to remember.”

“I would indeed, Charles. So bear me in mind if a miracle should happen and you find yourself ready for action, as it were.”

“Fine words, since the chances of that miracle are exactly zero,” Athos said dryly. “I’d like to see how ready you’d be if it happened.”

“Athos, a gentleman is always prepared, and I always stand by my word.”

“I believe you. Lying like this is good enough for me, though.”

“I still miss wanking,” Porthos said. There was a long silence as the brothers mourned for the loss of this simple pleasure. But Aramis, as always, was irrepressible.

“I wonder, is there a risk with super strength that you might just pull it right off if you’re not careful?”

“ _Aramis_.”

“Think about it, Athos. Maybe the reason we can’t get it up is that our bodies are protecting us from such dire consequences.”

“Your mind is a truly frightening thing,” d’Artagnan said. He yawned. “I’m going to sleep.” He put his arms around Athos. “Do you mind?”

Athos cuddled closer. “Never. Goodnight, Charles.”

“‘Night, Athos.”


	4. Chapter 4

Treville had retired early since the football the evening before had knackered him. He was thus awake not long after dawn, and creeping down the corridor to the stairs and seeing bedrooms doors open and the rooms empty, he assumed his men had gone for another run. Only when he checked the last room, did he realise they were still in the house—and curled around each other on Athos’s bed like a nest of baby squirrels.

He would need to speak to the commanding officer at Pau, to make sure suitable sleeping arrangements were in place for them. He had a feeling their peculiar closeness was crucial to their continued cooperation and stability.

He didn’t wake them, because they needed their rest. But it wasn't long before they appeared one by one, bright-eyed and cheerful despite the dreadful news of the day before. “What time is the doctor arriving?” Athos asked, setting about making coffee, while Aramis laid the table.

“By nine, probably earlier. He’s very anxious to talk to you. How are you all?”

“Super,” Athos said, which made Aramis chuckle. “No obvious deterioration over night, if that’s your concern. Sir.”

“It isn’t, you cheeky bugger. We should be able to go to Pau in the next forty-eight hours, unless you need more time to think about things.”

“Sooner the better,” d’Artagnan said, sitting down and snaffling two croissants. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

“Yeah,” Porthos agreed. “Anyone else want eggs?” The others did, so Athos put out the frying pan and cooking a mountain of food for them all.

They took their time over the meal, and watching them forcing their bodies to be still was quite painful. Treville hoped Lemay would have something to make that easier.

The doctor arrived as they were still eating. The four men had heard the car minutes before, and had taken up defensive positions in and around the house, even though they had no weapons other than their own bodies. Treville confirmed by phone that the approaching vehicle was Lemay’s, so the four relaxed and came back to the table as if nothing had been amiss, though their eyes remained watchful.

Doctor Lemay turned out to be a pleasant young man with a bookish manner and a gentle way of speaking. He greeted them all by name and shook their hands. He took up a seat at their breakfast table. “Gentlemen, I’m at your disposal for the day. Ask what you want.”

“What the hell did they do to us?” d’Artagnan asked. Treville realised the rudeness disguised his sense of betrayal. He got up to make more coffee. This would take some time.

Without patronising this very smart group, Lemay managed to explain what the enhancement process had involved. “You were all selected because you had a natural predisposition in the direction we wanted to go. Your genetics already favoured success. We managed to switch on a whole group of genes which control pain, tolerance of very high lactate levels in muscle, nerve and tissue repair, vision, hearing, neural growth, the immune system, and muscle building and strength. Some of these have only beneficial effects, such as your improved vision and hearing. Unfortunately, we’ve discovered that the increased pain tolerance leads to much more frequent injury which in turn causes much higher cell turnover, and so your bodies age much faster. The aggressive immune response leads to inflammation too, which damages vital tissues and organs, including your heart. Everything you do which increases tissue injury, contributes to this.”

“We can’t lie in bed for the rest of our lives,” Aramis said.

“No, certainly not, although unlike ordinary individuals, your muscles and tissues do not benefit from exercise to any extent because you’re pre-exercised. You are already at optimum.”

“I go insane if I can’t exercise or run,” d’Artagnan said.

“Yes, that’s an unfortunate side effect. You are like athletes at the top of their form. The need to work is overwhelming. But going running for hours and hours at a time puts a strain on your body which your high pain tolerance prevents you from avoiding. Your bodies are damaged by the build up of lactate, by deprivation of food, water or sleep, but because you don’t feel it so acutely, and you repair the damage so quickly, you don’t have the natural cues to stop doing something that’s dangerous. It’s like alcohol. It’s literally a poison. When we first drink it, it makes us drunk very fast, and often sick. Over time, we can build a tolerance which allows us to drink more and more often, and we feel less drunk and tolerate the side effects better. But the poison is still doing us harm.”

Athos looked down, avoiding the doctor’s eyes.

“What can we do? What are _you_ doing?” Porthos asked.

“For the moment, the most you can do is delay the inevitable by avoiding excessive exercise and injury. getting plenty of sleep—which I know is a problem for some of you—eating well, avoiding stress.”

“Living like a house plant,” d’Artagnan said.

“Fuck that. I’m a soldier,” Porthos said. “If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die doing my job.”

Lemay smiled. “I understand. But when you aren’t working, then rest as much as you can. It won’t make _that_ much difference to your lifespan that you need to be miserable.”

“Was that intended to be comforting, doctor?” Athos asked.

“Er. A little?”

“So, chances of a cure?” Aramis asked.

“Slim. The effect of the enhancements is working against us. Turning these genes off again is a lot harder than turning them on, at least in humans. If you were yeast, well, then it would be a different story.” He managed to make them all grin. “But we are working hard, I promise you. In the meantime we can help you sleep through medication, reduce inflammation through immunosuppressants—though I warn the side effects are worse than the disease in some ways—and even if we can turn off just a few genes, that will buy us and you time.”

“In the meantime, we’ll do our job,” Porthos said. “I’m not sitting around waiting to die.”

“Of course not. But for now I’d like to speak to each of you privately, and tailor advice to your individual needs. I’d also like to take blood and tissue samples and take some readings of your heart rate, blood pressure, things like that, if you consent.” They all nodded. “Athos, I’d like to start with you.”

“Use the bedrooms, doctor,” Treville said. “We’ll stay downstairs.”

“Won’t make any difference,” Aramis said. “We’ll hear everything. But I promise to ignore it, my friend,” he added to Athos.

“Worse than living in barracks,” Athos murmured as he stood. “Doctor?”

The others set about clearing up, but Treville touched Aramis on the shoulder. “A word with you, if I may? Out in the garden?” Maybe it made no difference to their privacy but Treville wanted to at least give them the semblance of it.

“Of course.”

It was another beautiful day, as summer approached. “It’s good to be alive, no matter for how long,” Aramis said.

“You seem sanguine about it all.”

“What can I achieve by raging about it? Nothing. So I will accept the good things while I can. What did you want to talk about?”

“This business with Richelieu’s mistress. She’s married to your former commanding officer?”

“Adele Bessette, yes.”

“And you had an affair with her.”

“No. We were friends and we spent two nights together. Unfortunately her husband discovered us the second time, and reported me to the general, unaware of his more...personal interest.”

Treville stroked his chin. “But, er, I understand you four men are...incapable.”

“Sadly, yes. But one does not need a penis to pleasure a woman, colonel.”

Why was this his life? “But you need one to get her pregnant.”

“Usually, yes. But there was no chance I could do so, because of my inability, and the fact I chose to be sterilised a while before the programme because one of my lovers had a pregnancy scare, and I didn't want to go through that again. Or put them through it. I wanted children, but I’m too old now. Too irresponsible too,” Aramis added ruefully. “The army is my family. Or it was.”

“However, Ms Bessette did apparently get pregnant, and you have been accused of being the cause.”

“Ah. Explains a lot.” He didn’t seem too upset about it. “Richelieu must have found me a very convenient scapegoat.”

“You did sleep with her. That was dishonourable.”

“Yes, I know,” Aramis said with a sigh. “My need for physical closeness was always my downfall, and Adele was so kind. I was tempted by that, and I failed to resist. It makes no difference now, though. Richelieu can’t do worse to us than the experiments did, can he?”

Treville wasn’t so sure. “I suppose. Anyway, I just wanted to have the facts, even if there’s nothing to be done with them.”

“I understand. She was beautiful, and felt like sweet goodness distilled. She tasted of—”

Treville held up his hand. “More than enough information, captain.”

Aramis grinned. “Sorry. Still, I don’t regret it, but I hope she’s not suffering for my mistake.”

“I don’t have any information about her present situation at all.”

“No, I suppose not. Was there anything else?”

“No. Go do something nice.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Treville shook his head as Aramis walked away. Whether it did these men any good or not, he intended to pursue this matter. Richelieu’s actions were more than petty and unworthy. They were criminal. And somehow, the bastard needed to pay for that.

*************************

The kind doctor stayed for lunch, and just after he left, Treville received the go-ahead from Pau. “We leave in the morning.”

“At last,” Porthos said, and the others nodded.

“Everyone right for medications? Personal items? We have time for a trip to town.”

“I’m good,” Porthos said, and the others confirmed the same.

“Fine. Then enjoy the leisure time because what’s ahead is no picnic.”

“Do tell,” Athos said, eyebrow raised.

“Perhaps if you all behaved like seasoned veterans instead of snotty school children, I’d remember not to patronise you.”

“Oh, sick _burn_ ,” d’Artagnan without changing his expression. “I believe that’s what snotty school kids call it, anyway.”

“Just go away,” Treville said with a long-suffering sigh. “And make the most of it.”

A Captain Cornet whisked the four away when they arrived at Pau, so Treville went back to his office. A lot was riding on this mission—the lives of the captive women, his reputation, that of the four ‘insufferables’, and their own sense of self-worth. The best Lemay could suggest was to outfit them and prepare them exactly the same as non-enhanced personnel, and he’d winced when Treville had told him how far from the camp they planned the parachute drop.

“Would you do that for non-enhanced personnel?”

“Non-enhanced personnel wouldn’t be sent on this mission. The last team was dropped ten kilometres from the previous camp, but the terrain was different.”

Lemay had pursed his lips. “If you judge it essential, then so be it. Give them downtime afterwards, and make them take it easy. I suppose in the long-run, it makes little difference.”

“Quality of life is better than quantity.”

“You know, they each said that to me in more or less the same words. I’d rather they had both.”

So would Treville, but he had no control over that.

He was pleased to note that his request for separate quarters had been granted, and when he went to find the team to join them for a meal, they had pulled the beds close together. “Equipment satisfactory, gentlemen?” he asked after he told them to stand at ease. Already they seemed calmer, more professional.

D’Artagnan grinned. “We got all the best toys, sir.”

“Doctor Lemay was a little concerned about the length of the trek from the drop zone to the camp. Thoughts? Major?”

“I think there are more positives than negatives. Even if they’re monitoring radar, or have spies in the area, they’d have no reason to suspect anyone approaching from that distance.”

“You still intend to try and cover that in a night?”

“Snakes and the gods willing,” Athos said, glancing at d’Artagnan. “But we won’t push our luck.”

“And the trainer?”

“Major Sofia Martinez. She’s a good officer. Smart, tough. She’s taking us seriously.”

“So she ought to,” Treville said, relieved by what he heard. “I won’t be flying with you to Libreville, unless you consider it necessary. So far as that base is concerned, you’re just another team of elite professionals, and you’re the only ones who’ll prove or disprove that.”

“So long as they don’t pull any shit, we won’t,” Porthos said.

“Don’t pull anything regardless,” Treville warned. “This is your chance to show them you can be managed, contrary to our dear general’s belief. He wants you to fail. Major de la Fère, you’re in command. You’ll need to prove you can control your men.”

“Yes, sir. It won’t be a problem.”

“Right, so, let’s get supper.”

Two days later his ‘insufferables’ flew to Libreville. Treville watched them board the plane, all relaxed insouciance, and though he wasn’t a believer, sent a prayer for their safety skywards. He knew they could do it. But now it was all up to them.

*************************

At Dr Lemay’s urging, the four of them slept the whole flight to Libreville with the help of the strongest sleeping tablets he dared prescribe them. Because they flushed medication out faster than ordinary people, they were wide-awake and ready to go as the plane touched down. Their local contact, Lieutenant Rousseau, took them to an office to give them the latest satellite photos, weather forecast, and a detailed terrain map. “We still have nothing to indicate the girls have been moved, assuming they’re still there.”

“Do we think they are the only captives?”

“We don’t know for sure. There have been so many raids and abductions. The women are rewards for the recruits, so they need a steady supply.”

“Lovely,” Athos said. “Somewhere to rest and eat until we leave?”

“This way, sir.”

They were given two spare officer’s quarters with an extra cot in each, which was fine, and the mess served up a decent meal. All Athos and his brothers were interested in was fuelling up as much as possible. They needed to travel fast, which meant not carrying too much in the way of extra rations—at least not enough for their special needs. Despite Lemay’s caution, they were going to do what was best for the mission and the captives, because preserving their failing bodies would never take priority over civilian lives. They could do this. And more importantly, no one else could. Not as well.

Failure was not an option.

Athos had told them to get some rest, and Aramis and Porthos had taken the other room to do that. d’Artagnan, lying on the cot, was quiet, thoughtful, getting into the right mindset for the mission. Athos and Porthos had a better idea of what to expect, and had done their best to impart that to the others, but it would be new to all of them. And Athos felt dangerously rusty after such a long and useless detention. Lemay had recommended meditation as a stress management tool. Athos had listened politely, while knowing he would rather cut off a ball than do it. Getting lost in his head was the worst thing he could do, and thinking about how he could fail on this mission was deadly.

Instead he concentrated on thinking about the men he would be with, their strengths, their kindness. Their concern. If any of them were hurt because of this...because of him...he could never forgive himself.

And of course his thoughts came back to Thomas. And Anne. That day when everything ended.

“Hey, you okay?” D’Artagnan sat up to look at him. “You look mopey.”

“Of course I don’t. It’s impossible to mope above the rank of captain.”

D’Artagnan laughed. “Oh right. So this is just very deep thought.”

“The deepest. Forty-two levels of thought.”

His friend was confused. “Okay?”

“Sorry. It’s an allusion to an old book in English. Came out before you were born.”

“Ah. Good book?”

“I thought so. You all right? No nerves?”

“I’ll be right so long as I don’t land on a snake’s head. I’m not scared of them but it might think it was a tad rude.”

Athos smiled. “Indeed. You should be sleeping.”

“So should you, _sir_.”

“That just sounds wrong from you.” He looked at his watch. “Only an hour to lift off.”

“We should drink more water.” D’Artagnan got up and fetched two bottles from the desk. Athos accepted his and took a long swallow. D’Artagnan sat on the bed next to him. “Seriously, you okay?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

The lad put his arm around Athos’s shoulders and Athos leaned into his embrace. “Maybe you could help me look for a good translation of that book? My English isn’t that good, so I might not have time to finish it otherwise.”

Athos ignored the defeatism in those words. “You should work on your English, not take the easy way out.”

“Are you offering to teach me, then?”

“Why not? It’s a useful skill to have.”

“Yeah, because my career is my biggest concern.”

Athos put his arm around d’Artagnan’s waist. “Let’s live life while we can. I’ve spent too long crying over what I couldn’t fix.”

“You? Cry? Nah.”

“Brat,” he murmured against the boy’s ear. Athos loved him, loved all three of them, with a fierceness that physically hurt sometimes.

“Drink your water, boss.”

“Yes, _maman_.”

They sat like that, sipping water, until it was time to go. Athos considered it had done him more good than a night’s solid rest.

They arrived at the drop zone, approximately thirty kilometres north northwest of Mont Nabemba, at sunset with just enough light in the sky for them to see the ground. When the pilot told them over their headsets they were in positions, Athos put out his hand. “All for one.”

His brothers put their hands on top of his. “And one for all.”

“Go!”

D’Artagnan jumped first, then Porthos, Aramis and finally Athos himself. They aimed for a small previously cleared area away from human occupation, and made the landing safely. “Everyone okay.?” Athos asked, and waited until each of them confirmed they were. They pulled their parachutes in and set off, though it wasn’t full dark. Their night vision was better than normal, but they couldn’t see in literal darkness, so the night vision goggles came out.

This far from the camp, they were less concerned about noise, and since elephants were a real concern, the sound of them clearing vines and small trees should warn the beasts of their approach. When they were able to move more quietly, they all kept their ears and noses alert for any sign of them approaching a herd. Twice they thought they were close to one and chose a different path to avoid them.

Despite d’Artagnan’s fears, snakes were not likely to bother them, but they had to watch where they stepped in case they put their foot on an ant’s nest, which would not be amusing for the foot’s owner. It was tiring travel even for them, but they had twelve hours to make their destination, longer if they had to.

They stopped for a couple of minutes every hour to drink water and eat energy bars. Around them the night forest was hardly silent, with frog calls, cicadas, and the eerie wails of bushbabies. The guide they had talked to in Libreville suggested they stayed away from clearings altogether since planted crops could attract elephants, and doing so meant encountering another human was a low risk. They kept their weapons handy anyway.

The last two hours were harder going as they were steadily ascending, but on the other hand, the risk of elephants was lowered with the steeper grade. Finally at eleven, they reached the access track to the camp originally cut by surveyors looking for iron ore deposits, and took up a position on a ridge over looking the point where a guard had been posted about two hundred metres from the camp itself. The plan was to take out any guards on the road and around the camp while it was still dark, verify the women were there, try to extract with minimal disturbance in the pre-dawn and get them clear. There was no point in rushing it. If they killed the road guard and his shift replacements raised the alarm, they’d lose the element of surprise.

“Time for a rest, gentleman. I’ll take the watch.”

“Athos, you’ve had no sleep today,” d’Artagnan said.

“And I won’t get any here either, so I may as well put it to use.”

“Then I’m sitting up with you.”

“Suit yourself,” Athos said, knowing it was pointless to argue. “Power down your goggles though. Save the battery.” He did so himself, pulling out his night vision binoculars instead.

D’Artagnan obeyed and settled against him. Aramis and Porthos leaned up against a tree, next to each other. They wouldn’t sleep hard like that, but that was the point.

They sat silently, listening to the forest creaking, chirping, burping, singing and crying around them. A way off, the low rumble of an elephant sounded. And further off, thunder beat a drum. Would it rain? Might be handy if it did, cover their approach, make the guards more interested in sheltering than watching for incursion. But it would be hard on the captives, if they were still in the camp.

After an hour of sitting like this, D’Artagnan tapped Athos’s knee and put his hand to his ear. Athos went still, held his breath to reduce the background noise.

 _There_. Bootfalls on a dirt road, approaching. Then two men talking—in French, he noted—about how guarding at night sucked, water canteens clanking, the quiet rate of a submachine gun or something like it as it was shifted from a shoulder. Changing of the guard, which Athos confirmed with a quick view through the binoculars. It was just after twelve. Unlikely the guards would change again before five, an hour before dawn, when Athos and his team wanted to make their move.

They sat still and breathing gently for another ten minutes, and by then all the sounds from the guards, one remaining, one trudging slowly down the rough track. “Should we take him out now?” d’Artagnan whispered.

“No. Give it another couple of hours.”

D’Artagnan nodded. Athos wanted the camp nice and asleep and the wee hours of the morning were always the worst for maintaining alertness. They could use that against the militants. He also wanted to be sure there were no other guards coming to check in.

D’Artagnan took hold of Athos’s wrist and held his hand lightly in his lap. No need to comment. The lad’s need for physical connection was as great as Athos’s own, and right now, Athos was happy to have it. No need to talk either. Contact was all they needed.

Just after two, he heard thunder again. He checked the weather radar, then showed d’Artagnan the screen. A storm was approaching. It was a good time to move. “Wake them,” he subvocalised, cocking his head towards their brothers.

Once Aramis and Porthos were alert and at their side, d’Artagnan moved silently down the slope, and Athos kept watching as he crept up behind the guard and cut his throat with no sound except the thud of the man’s body hitting the ground. He gave the ‘head out’ signal to the others and they joined their comrade down on the road. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before the rain hits. We’ll get into position, and when it starts to rain, move in.”

The approaching storm and thunder gave them excellent cover as they stuck to the brush at the side of the road. The rain began not long after they reached the camp. Six tents stood in the clearing, and only one had a guard. Athos estimated that if one of those tents was for food preparation, and another for the leaders, then there were thirty to forty militants to contend with.

Porthos pointed out a truck, two jeeps, and a fuel dump on the opposite of the camp, away from the tents. The tent guard was out of the line of sight for the truck. “Check if it’s fuelled and the keys in the ignition,” Athos said in Porthos’s ear. “Stay with it. We’ll get the captives.”

Porthos moved off, and Athos signalled for the other two to follow him. The tent guard was more concerned with keeping his cigarette dry, a problem D’Artagnan dealt with for him in a permanent fashion. He dragged the body to the side of the tent, then he and Athos slipped in the front way, while Aramis checked the rear and kept watch.

Despite the hour, one of the adults was awake. Athos put his finger to his lips. “French,” he mouthed. “Rescue.” The woman nodded. Athos crept over to her, careful not to step on anyone and wake them. “Wake everyone up. Keep them quiet.”

The woman nodded again, and began to crawl around the tent to each sleeper in turn. D’Artagnan followed and as each child or woman woke and was warned to be silent, he told them to get dressed, put on shoes and anything they had to protect against the rain. While they were doing that, Athos counted the captives. _Shit_. Fourteen, not ten. And the extra four seemed to be only ten or eleven years old . The other kids were fourteen or so.

When they were ready, he tapped three times on the side of the tent. Only Aramis’s superior hearing would pick it up through the heavy rain. Athos found his friend at the tent opening. “We have fourteen. Is the truck operational?”

“Yes.”

“You and D’Artagnan get them to the truck and into it. Be ready to drive as soon as we start our diversion. Porthos will be with me.”

D’Artagnan came up to them. “One of the nuns has a broken leg. She can’t walk at all.”

“Carry her, and we’ll manage the others.” He checked the camp outside. No militants. “Are we sure we have all the captives now?”

“Sister Marie says so.”

“Good. Come now. Quickly.”

The three adults and two of the older girls took charge of the other teenagers. Athos carried one of the younger kids, and held the other’s hand. Aramis did the same with the other two. “Follow us. I know you can’t see, but we can. Sisters, grab our belts, and the rest of you, hold onto them or someone who’s doing that. Okay?”

They all nodded. _Thank fuck for good old Catholic school training._ “Let’s go.”

The rain pissed down on them, but Athos couldn’t be happier. It completely masked the small amount of noise they were making, and kept the men inside in the dry. They had all the captives in the back of the truck, with the injured woman carefully positioned, within five minutes. He held up two fingers. “Two minutes,” he said, then nodded to Aramis and d’Artagnan, who went to the front of the truck. Porthos came to the rear. “Plan?”

“Much boom. Many bangs. Shoot anything that moves and isn’t me.”

Porthos’s grin shone white in the darkness.

They put explosives on the fuel and in the jeeps timed to go off in two minutes. At one minute and fifty five seconds, they threw blast grenades at the openings of the five tents which hadn’t housed captives, then waited to see who staggered out.

The truck roared into life under the cover of the explosions, with all the attention focussed on the fuel dump, and, from the sound of it, their ammo dump as well. Athos shot two men who looked about to chase after the truck, but the rest didn’t seem to notice they had lost a vehicle and all their prisoners. He and Porthos didn’t give them a chance to find out.

Once the explosions stopped, and they had dealt with anyone who had run out of the tents, they went searching to make sure no one was playing dead. Then they made the briefest of searches for ID and anything obviously useful as intelligence, taking photos of anything that looked likely.

Athos radioed Aramis. “We’re clear here. Wait for us. Call our ride and tell them our position.”

“Understood, over and out.”

The rain petered out just as they caught up with the truck a kilometre down the road. Aramis was in the back dealing with the nun’s broken leg, which had been splinted in only cursory fashion. D’Artagnan was standing guard. “Okay?” Athos asked.

“All safe, boss. Our ride will be half an hour. They’ll radio when they’re closer and we can set flares.”

“They can’t land here. What’s ahead?”

“Bit of a steep descent for a couple of klicks before it levels out. I wasn’t sure this thing could get down in mud.”

Athos considered the other option. They could take everyone down on foot, or wait here and have everyone winched out. “Take it as far as you can. No need to rush. If it gets stuck, we’ll walk down but it’ll be a lot easier on them if we can drive them out. Porthos, help Aramis. Give everyone as much water, food, whatever we have that they want. Keep them calm. Sing if you have to.”

“Thought you wanted them calm, not terrified.”

Athos grinned. “Do your best. D’Artagnan, I’ll ride shotgun. Let’s go.”

D’Artagnan was right about the steepness, and there were a few hairy moments. But he took it very gently and skilfully, and within ten minutes, reached the relatively flat ground with the truck still operational and no one hurt. “Drive on until you’re happy with the landing area,” Athos said.

Within a few hundred metres, d’Artagnan judged they had reached a suitable position. “Okay?”

Athos hopped out and checked the terrain. “Perfect. Kill the lights, we might need them.” He switched on his radio and called the transport helicopter. “Muskox leader here, status report, over?”

“Muskox leader, we are on time. Have you got exact co-ordinates for us, over?”

Athos provided them. “Area is suitable for landing, over.”

“Good news, Muskox leader. See you in ten minutes, over and out.”

Athos walked to the rear of the truck. “Everyone all right? You can hop out now if you want to stretch. You’re safe.”

“They don’t have any shoes,” Porthos said.

“Then I shall have to join you in the truck.” He climbed up. “The helicopter is ten minutes away. You’ll all be home by tomorrow, I hope.”

One of the youngest ones reached out and gripped his sleeve. “Did God send you, monsieur?”

“No, little one. Colonel Treville, who only thinks he’s God.” That made Porthos and one of the nuns snort with laughter. “Where are you from?”

“Bangui. The bad men came ten days ago to our school. They killed our teacher.”

Athos patted her hand. “I’m sorry. We made sure they were punished.”

“Did you shoot them? I wanted to shoot them.”

“Edith, you should not say such things.”

Athos shook his head at the nun wearily scolding the child. “Anger is normal, sister. The bad men won’t bother you again, little one.”

He was terrible at this shit. He climbed down and went to the driver’s side door. “Go use your famous charm, Charles. Children are all terrified of me. All but you, I mean.”

D’Artagnan stuck his tongue out. “Why should I be scared of you? I can beat you any day.”

“Make good on that when we get back to France, brat. Shoo.”

When the helicopter pilot made contact again, he told Athos when and where to set the flares. Once done, Athos got everyone out of the truck. “Now this will be very noisy and maybe not comfortable, but you’ll be quite safe. No need to be frightened.”

“ _I’m_ not frightened,” one of the teen proudly announced. “Not any more.”

“Good girl. Keep your heads down and your eyes open. Sisters, please go first. You older girls next, then the youngest. Porthos, take Sister Jeanne.”

The [Puma ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A%C3%A9rospatiale_SA_330_Puma)was like thunder in the now cloudless and star-lit sky, but none of the former captives hesitated for a second as they ran towards it, being pulled on board by the crew. Athos was the last on and found himself sitting next to the bloodthirsty Edith. He gave her a thumbs up, and the child returned it enthusiastically. He looked up and saw d’Artagnan grinning at him. He resisted the temptation to stick his tongue out as his brother had done before.

Mission accomplished.


	5. Chapter 5

Treville received Athos’s text at seven am. “Primary and secondary objectives achieved. Captives +4 rescued, no losses or injuries. Lift off L’ville, 3pm local time.”

He called Athos immediately. “Good news. Well done.”

“Thank you, sir. We picked up four extra captives taken from Bangui. There had been no leads on their whereabouts so the authorities were pleased.”

Treville pictured Athos’s wry look as he said that. “And all of you are well? No side effects?”

“Only terminal smugness, sir.”

Treville laughed. “Entirely justified. I’ll see you when you return to Pau. Once you catch your breath, I have another mission for you.”

“Looking forward to it, sir.”

Treville lost no time in sending a report to General Richelieu, with the unspoken thought that he hoped the man would choke on it.

By the time his men arrived in Pau, the press had picked up the good news, and the President was proudly citing it as a feather in his and France’s cap that his country had been the one to rescue these vulnerable female captives—the previous failed mission was not mentioned, of course. Treville shook each man’s hand as they came to his office, smiling and obviously happy about the success of their first mission.

“You might have built a rod for your own backs though. There are a lot of captives we have been trying to rescue, and you’ve been flagged for as many missions as you can handle.”

“Bring them on,” d’Artagnan declared, and the others grinned at him.

“You have another one for us right now,” Athos said.

“I do, but first Dr Lemay wants to examine you. Actually, first, rest, then Lemay. When he gives you the all clear, I’ll brief you. But you can give me your report now.”

The smoothness with which the team had carried it out, the completeness of their success, was a balm on Treville’s soul after carrying such massive guilt around with him for months over the loss of the last team. It vindicated his belief that these men did have something to offer the military, and that a small, very specialised team could be effective even against a large number of enemy combatants.

If only their abilities weren’t going to lead to an early death. But none of them seemed concerned about that right now. “This is what I joined the army to do,” Porthos said.

D’Artagnan agreed. “Me too.”

“Then we’re all happy. Go get some rest. You have twenty-four hours’ minimum before you have to let Lemay poke you. I’m available if you need me.”

“Sir,” Athos said, smiling.

Even Lemay was happy. Taking the precautions about their health meant that the mission hadn’t obviously caused accelerated deterioration, and Lemay gave the go ahead for another job so long as those precautions continued to be followed. “Nothing’s changed, colonel,” he warned. “But since they want to do what they can while they can, they aren’t harming themselves above and beyond just sitting around and fretting.”

“That’s something. Any news on the cure?”

“We managed to turn off one gene, a minor one, but only in first level enhanced subjects. It didn’t work for our female subjects. Their repair systems rewrote what we did in three days.”

“Damn.”

“Yes, but we expected that. Turning off the gene is a step forward, don’t mistake me. But we will probably run out of time for this group. We expect the women to live longer, but even they can only expect five, six years.”

None of the subjects were over forty. “This must never happen again, doctor.”

“Oh, I plan to make my feelings plain on that, colonel. But will anyone listen? Too many ministers, too many generals, take the expression ‘cannon fodder’ far too literally.”

Unfortunately true. Treville decided to focus on the short term, and do what he could with the team while they were still willing and able.

Over the next two months, his ‘insufferables’ completed seven missions, all rescues, and with the loss of only one life—a man who was already badly injured before they reached the camp where he’d been held. The word was getting around Islamic militants on the African continent about the ‘ghost squad’, so French intelligence reported. Security was tightened in the forest camps, but still Athos and his team managed to get in and out each time with the people they’d come to save, leaving a camp full of dead militants behind them.

The successes were bolstering the president’s reputation. Richelieu was seething, Treville’s sources claimed. And four men who had become as dear to Treville as sons won a measure of happiness and contentment that they had been lacking for too long.

Their eighth mission was to rescue four wealthy French tourists visiting the Sapo National Park in Liberia, who had been taken hostage by militants, and who were believed to be held captive across the border in the Ivory Coast. The [Green Berets](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Commandos_Marine) could have dealt with it, but orders had come down from General Richelieu that the President himself had demanded Treville’s team handle it. The President was most anxious for this to be resolved quickly, since the video of a French citizen’s beheading just days before this attack, had received a great deal of concerned press coverage and criticism.

This was the first time his team would be sent in when there had been no previous attempt to rescue the captives. Treville didn’t like it. The Green Berets would see it as an insult to their reputation, and Treville’s involvement would only heighten the sense of grievance. But orders were orders. The team were put on notice to leave at short notice, and as soon as solid intelligence was received as to the hostages location—within the Taï National Park—they were on board a flight to Abidjan, Ivory Coast.

“Don’t come back with Ebola,” Treville said as they waited to leave. “Keep away from bats, don’t eat bush meat, and stay away from sick people.”

“Bats. Why can’t these fuckers ever keep their prisoners some place nice and flat and dry?” Porthos complained.

“If they did, we’d be out of a job.” Aramis clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Cheer up. It’s supposed to be beautiful where we’re going.”

“We’ll be going in at night.”

“Ah. Well, the beauty will still be there even if we don’t see it.”

Athos shook his head. “Gentlemen, if you’re quite ready? Sir, we’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“Counting on it. Good luck.”

And while they were gone, Treville would work on smoothing a few ruffled feathers. He didn’t know when his men would have to work directly with the Commandos Marines, but he wanted it to go well when they did.

*************************

The captain who met them at Abidjan was distinctly unfriendly, and the colonel who briefed them could barely disguise his contempt for the four of them. He stopped from outright saying they were wasting his time, but the dismissive way he’d delivered the latest intel and images made it clear that was what he thought.

“What’s that prick’s problem?” Porthos asked as they headed to the quarters where they could wait until dark. A night drop this time. Athos didn’t like them, but on the other hand, he could manage them well enough.

“I suspect Treville was right about noses being out of joint because we were the first option,” Athos said.

“But why the fuck does he care?”

“Maybe he has friends in the Green Berets?” Aramis said. “Anyway, keeping him happy is the least of our worries.”

“Not a worry at all to me,” d’Artagnan muttered. Athos had to agree.

They took off at midnight, for a one-hour flight to their drop zone. They all completed the landing safely, and set off due north. By now, Athos and his brothers were relaxed about scrambling through thick rainforest in the middle of the night, and there was little chance of encountering elephants, for the unfortunate reason that they were nearly extinct in the national park. The drop was a mere five kilometres from the camp, so they were in position within an hour. No rain for cover this time, but the camp seemed quiet. This time there was a guard in front of every tent, so there was no way of telling just from that which one held the hostages. It was just as likely the captives had been split up—the militants were becoming canny.

One of the guards was seated, smoking and inattentive. Athos signalled to d’Artagnan that he would be their first target, and the lad slid through the forest edge to get up behind the man and kill him.

Only, before he could do that, he was suddenly surrounded by soldiers who’d poured out of the tent. Floodlights blinded Athos who tore off his night vision goggles, to find d’Artagnan being held with a arm around his throat and a pistol to his head. “Come out, little Frenchies. Your friend will die if you don’t.”

Athos swallowed. Beside him Aramis and Porthos were silent, but vibrating with tension.

“Oh, so you don’t like him so much?” D’Artagnan’s eyes carefully didn’t look toward where he knew his brothers were hiding. The man holding the gun on him jerked his head at the other men. “Bring them out.”

Two of the men peeled off. Shortly afterwards the four men and women who had been taken hostage were dragged, bound, gagged and blindfolded, out of two tents, and held like shields as d’Artagnan was. “Come out or I will kill all of them, little Frenchies.”

“Take them out,” Athos whispered. “On my mark.” He held up three fingers and counted down, three, two, one.

He killed the man holding the pistol with his first shoot, and others went down from Aramis and Porthos’s bullets. D’Artagnan threw himself at the hostages and covered them, but cried out as he was shot, Athos couldn’t tell where. Athos charged out of the bushes, still firing. The militants fled, melting into the forest without further resistance.

Aramis and Porthos pursued them until it was clear they weren’t returning fire, or coming back at all. Athos had run to the hostages, only to find them all dead, and d’Artagnan bleeding heavily from a gut and shoulder wound. When had the captives been killed? Had the gunfire distracted him?

Aramis ran over. “Shit. Porthos, my pack. Athos, pressure over the wound _now.”_

Dazed by it all going so wrong, so fast, Athos obeyed, though he kept his ears open for sounds of the militants returning. Once Aramis had heavy field dressings over the entry and exit wounds, Athos radioed for pickup, reporting four dead civilians and one officer in urgent need of medical attention. He looked around once the pick up was requested. Three militants had died, out of a group of at least ten, and probably more, though some of the survivors may have been injured.

“They knew we was coming,” Porthos growled.

Athos nodded, unable to speak for worry and despair. He unbound hands of and removed gags from the dead captives, and laid them out on the ground in a dignified fashion. He stood and looked down at Aramis, injecting d’Artagnan with something, probably morphine. “Will he live?”

“I hope so,” Aramis said but with none of his usual optimism. Instead his expression was grim, and that gave Athos more reason to worry himself sick.

“Better check for documents and stuff,” Porthos said, putting his hand on Athos’s shoulder, and directing him towards the tents.

There was surprisingly little to see. The tents looked as if they’d been occupied for a night or less, and apart from the tourists’ bags and cameras, there were no other personal items at all. No charts, papers, weapons—not even food. Just a few empty water bottles and packets of dried fruit and nuts.

“This wasn’t their main camp. We were set up.”

“Yes,” Athos managed to say. He took photos to demonstrate the emptiness of it all, the very obvious staging, but to what point, he had no idea. The militants hadn’t made much of an attempt to kill _them_ —just the hostages. For what reason, though? To give France a black eye? But there were so many better ways to do that. Four hostages could have meant four demoralising and upsetting videos to release. Ransoms to extract. PR capital to make. It was a profligate act for soldiers from a movement which normally showed much more ruthlessness and savvy than this.

Aramis had put a breathing bag on d’Artagnan by the time the chopper arrived, and rode with him on the old stretcher as he was winched up. By the time Athos climbed aboard the helicopter, the paramedic with the crew was starting an IV, and Aramis had put oxygen on him. The lad was pale and sweaty, and the dressings already starting to soak through. Porthos took Athos’s hand and squeezed it, but he didn’t offer false platitudes about their brother being all right. There was every chance he wouldn’t be.

Aramis was shrugged off as the medical personnel on the ground took charge of d’Artagnan, rushing him into the medical centre. Porthos ran after them, intending to wait for news, Athos suspected, but a soldier at the door to the centre barred his entrance. “Unless you’re injured, you’re to stay outside, sergeant. Colonel’s orders.” Two more soldiers materialised, and swung their weapons in a significant manner towards the three of them.

“Bollocks. That’s my mate in there and I’m gonna wait for him.” Porthos tried to shove his way through, but was immediately bailed up at gunpoint.

“Porthos, stand down!” Athos snapped. “Do what you’re told.”

“Place him under arrest.” Colonel Trudeau from their arrival was stalking over. “And take him into custody.”

“Wait a minute,” Aramis said, rushing forward, though stopping with his hands up as guns were pointed at him. “He’s done nothing wrong.”

“Aramis, stand down. Get back here,” Athos said, worried he was going to see all his brothers shot today.

His friend didn’t move. “Athos, they can’t—”

“Arrest that man too,” the colonel barked. “Do you have anything to say, major?”

Athos gritted his teeth and forced himself to step backwards, not forward. “No, sir. Aramis, Porthos, cooperate, do you hear me? Do not resist or cause trouble.”

Porthos glared. Aramis looked at him and gave him the tiniest nod. Athos stood stock still as they were dragged away, then turned to the colonel. “May I have permission to wait for my lieutenant, sir?”

“No, you may not. You are to get on the next plane back to France. Your lieutenant will follow when he’s fit, if he survives.”

“And my other men?”

“Will not be joining you, major. The next plane leaves at seven am. Be on it, or you’ll be in the stockade with them. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned on his heel and walked stiffly towards the tent which had been allocated for their use. He had just over four hours. Colonel Treville was going to have his beauty sleep disturbed.

“Athos, what’s going on?”

“The mission was a crock. They were waiting for us. They shot d’Artagnan, killed all the hostages. The camp was fake. Sir, Porthos and Aramis have been arrested.”

“For what?”

“Breathing, as far as I can tell.” Athos described what had happened as dispassionately and fairly as he could. “Colonel Trudeau isn’t letting me stay until Charles is released. He’s telling me to return later this morning.”

“I’ll call him. Don’t give him any excuse to arrest you too.”

“No, sir.”

Treville hung up. Athos sat on his bunk with his head in his hands, his heart thumping like he’d run a marathon. He hadn’t been this alone in months, and certainly not forcibly separated from his brothers in all that time.

D’Artagnan could be dying. Not slowly like they all were, but quickly, bleeding out in the hospital a couple of hundred metres from him. Alone, without his brothers or a kind soul to comfort him. Athos had to stuff a fist in his mouth to stop himself screaming with rage and frustration.

It was nearly an hour before Treville called back. “Okay. He’s consented with extreme reluctance, to let you wait until I can fly out there. You’re to stay in the barracks under guard, and food will be delivered to you the you want it. If there’s any trouble, he’ll arrest you, though what for, he didn’t say. I can’t get there until tonight at the earliest.”

“And d’Artagnan? Did he say how he was?”

“Only that he’s in surgery. Just hold on, Athos. I’ll sort it out. Don’t do anything stupid until I get there.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m sorry, son.”

Athos nodded, even though Treville wouldn’t see it. “See you soon, sir.”

He clutched the phone for a long time, staring at the canvas walls without seeing them. Why was this happening? Because of the hostages?

And how had they been caught out so easily? He ran through the events in their mind. He couldn’t work out where they had gone wrong, except to be gullible enough to believe the intel. It had been a trap, just like the one that had killed Treville’s last team.

If d’Artagnan died....

If Athos couldn’t be with his brothers again....

Death would be preferable to living like that.


	6. Chapter 6

“Are you even fit to travel, colonel? You look like you’re about to blow a fuse.”

Treville grimaced at Doctor Lemay. “Is that a medical diagnosis, doctor?”

“Let me take your blood pressure and I’ll make it one.”

“I don’t have time to be sick. When we get our boys home, then I can be ill.”

Lemay raised an eyebrow, then settled back in his seat. He had agreed willingly when Treville had asked him to come with him to Abidjan to bolster his case to have his men released. Treville hoped it would be enough to soften the stony heart of Colonel Trudeau because nothing else had. He hadn’t dared invoke Richelieu’s name or asked him for help since it was entirely likely the general’s long and sticky fingers were all over this particular shit pie.

He willed the aircraft to fly faster.

“Colonel, if I may?” Lemay held out a couple of pills.

“What?”

“Valium. Are you allergic to anything? Taking anything else?”

“No, no, and no I don’t need them.”

The man’s brown eyes were kind, and held only concern. “Yes,” he said quietly, “you do. Please, for their sake. God knows I don’t want to have to explain to Athos why you had a heart attack on my watch.”

Treville agreed reluctantly, and swallowed the pills down. “No alcohol now,” the doctor said, “but you won’t want any. Just get some sleep.”

Treville doubted he would sleep regardless of the pills, and was amazed to be shaken awake as the plane began its descent into Abidjan’s airport just before seven pm.

When he reached the camp, he asked to be taken to Athos immediately, rather to see the colonel. A Captain Fleury insisted on joining them before his request was granted, although Treville asked the captain to remain outside while he went in with Lemay. Athos was on his bunk, curled up in a ball.

“Athos.” No response. Treville leaned down. “Athos!”

The man jerked and rolled over, sat straight up. “Sir. Doctor?” Treville sat on the next bunk. Athos looked like shit. “D’Artagnan?”

“Out of surgery. That’s all they’ll tell me. He’s alive, though.”

“They’ll tell me,” Lemay said. “I’ll go over to the hospital now, colonel, and come back with what I learn.”

“Thank you.”

When the doctor left, Treville leaned over and clasped Athos’s shoulder. “Are you all right? Have you eaten? Had anything to drink?”

Athos shook his head. “I can’t...not hungry. Too worried. Too angry. Why are they doing this to us? It was a trap. We were tricked. But we didn’t do anything wrong. The colonel was aggressive before we took off. What did we do to him?”

“Nothing. It’s politics at a higher level than you or I play at.”

“Sir, we have to get them out of the stockade. Porthos will be going insane. He didn’t do anything. Just wanted to go in to wait for Charles. I would have done the same, but he was ahead of me. And Aramis was just trying to intervene peacefully.” The man’s eyes burned in a too pale, too tired face. “They still think we’re animals,” he added in a whisper.

“You’re not.”

“All the captives were killed. We were set up and whoever it was didn’t care that four civilians died too.” He grabbed Treville’s shirtfront. “I want to know who did it!”

“Athos. Athos, let go. Athos!”

The man abruptly released him and put his hands over his face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, son. I know why you’re upset. If the good doctor hadn’t doped me to the eyeballs with valium on the flight, I’d be yelling too. Will you eat if I ask for some food to be brought? I don’t know where we’ll kip tonight, but in here would do. Have some water at least. Lemay will have my head if you faint from dehydration.”

“I’ll do what you want, sir.”

Treville shook his head, but it would have to do. He went to the tent’s opening and asked the guard to arrange food for two, and a message to be sent to the colonel that he would stay in the tent with his officer, as would Doctor Lemay.

When he came back to Athos, he was shocked to realise that the brown on his hands was dried blood. D’Artagnan’s blood. Athos hadn’t even washed his hands since the mission went belly-up. “Major, you’re filthy. You’re coming with me to clean up, shower, and change your clothes.”

Athos stared blearily up at him. “Why bother?”

“Because I said so, soldier. On your feet, grab your kit, and move. I’m not sleeping in the same tent with a man in your state.”

Athos looked at his hands. “We couldn’t stop the bleeding.”

“Athos, he’s alive. Hold onto that, and come and clean up. For pity’s sake, man, don’t make me make Lemay drug the hell out of you too.”

Athos blinked at the threat, which seemed to shock him out of his fugue. “Okay. Yes, sir,” he amended. He grabbed his backpack, and followed Treville out to the shower block.

A wash did Treville good as well, waking him up a little after the long flight and the very early start to his day. Athos was more alert too, though just as worried looking. Lemay still hadn’t returned when they got back to the tent, but the meals and water had been delivered. “Eat something,” Treville said, picking up his own tray. “And drink that water.”

“Yes, sir.”

Treville was very glad he had managed to get on a flight that day and not had to wait until the next. Athos probably wouldn’t have eaten or drunk a damn thing until he arrived, whenever that was.

Lemay came back as they were finishing up. “He’s doing well, Athos, though he won’t be released for a few days. He told me to tell you not to worry about him.”

Athos stood. “He’s awake?”

“More or less. Drugged for the pain, and he lost a fair bit of blood. He’ll need rehab for the shoulder, and the stomach wound will hurt for a while, but he’s going to be fine.”

Athos sat down again as if his knees had been removed. “Thank fuck,” he whispered.

“I wasn’t allowed to see Porthos or Aramis, unfortunately. I was told they have been sedated after they became uncontrollably violent.”

“They wouldn’t...not unless they are attacked.” Athos turned to Treville. “They wouldn’t. You have to...please, sir, you have to get them out.”

Treville held up his hand. “I intend to do everything within my ability, and use Doctor Lemay to support my request. But there’s nothing we can do tonight. If I drag Colonel Trudeau out at this time of night to argue with me about it, he’ll kick us off base and nothing will be achieved. Tomorrow, when you’re rested and we've had time to think rationally about all the possible issues, then we can talk to him.”

“I don’t know why he won’t let me see Charles.”

“Pettiness,” Treville said, with no need to mince his words around these two men. “So we’ll flatter and plead and make him feel like a big man. Do whatever we can to get you boys away from here, and then you are not coming back to this base ever. I don’t care who’s been kidnapped.”

“They didn’t want us to begin with,” Athos said. “I think they’re glad to have a reason to lock us up.”

Truer words, Treville thought. “Get some sleep, Athos. Doctor, we’ve eaten, but I can ask for something for you.”

“No, it’s fine. I picked up something at the hospital. I never eat much at night. Are we sleeping here?”

Treville chose the bunk next to Athos’s. He wasn’t one of the ‘insufferables’ and couldn’t offer the man the same comfort as one of his comrades, but he was better than nothing, and would be right there if Athos needed to talk. Lemay chose the bunk on the other side, but before he lay down for the night, he insisted on giving Athos a check over.

“Pulse is up, blood pressure is up. Do you have a headache, Athos?”

“A bit.”

Lemay felt behind his ears and frowned. “Swollen. Feeling ill?”

“No.”

“Joint pain? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“No. Just worried.”

“Hmmm. Eating and drinking properly?”

“Now I am,” he admitted with a wry look at Treville.

“Hmmm.” Lemay stroked his beard. “When we get back to Pau, I need to run some tests on you.”

Athos shot Treville a pleading look. “Doctor, maybe this can wait,” Treville said.

“Yes, it can. Sorry. Get some sleep. Wake me if you need me, or you feel unwell. Especially if you feel unwell.”

“I will.”

Treville grunted. He suspected that was a lie. But Athos gave nothing away, and Treville wasn’t going to call him on it. At least, not yet.

*************************

Colonel Trudeau was in a combative mood when Treville and Lemay came to his office next morning. “You should have reported to me immediately, Treville.”

“I thought disturbing you was unnecessary, colonel. I wanted to ensure Major de la Fère would not do anything to disrupt the operation of your camp.”

“He would not have been allowed to. Take him back to France and don’t bring him back to Ivory Coast, ever.”

Doctor Lemay smiled politely. “May I, colonel? Major de la Fère is important to Lieutenant d’Artagnan’s welfare, so if you would permit the major to visit him, and then remain until the lieutenant can be transferred back, it would be, medically speaking, a very good thing to do.”

“How long?”

“I understand just a couple of days.”

The colonel narrowed his eyes. “Those men are dangerous and uncontrolled, doctor.”

“The major has shown complete control as I understand it, and the lieutenant is in no condition to cause any trouble.”

With pursed lips, the man nodded. “Very well.”

“And the others?” Treville asked. “They can return together.”

“No. My orders are that d’Herblay and du Vallon are to be returned to France immediately and kept in indefinite detention.”

“Whose orders?”

“The minister of defence.”

This was ridiculous. But if they were in France, at least Treville and Lemay should be able to gain access to them. “May I see them?” Lemay asked.

“No, you may not. Our own doctors are taking care of that. They’ll be flown out today. Any attempt to contact either of them will be viewed as hostile, and I will have you ejected from this camp. Do you understand?”

Treville wanted to punch the git in the nose for the way he spoke, but that would be decidedly counterproductive. “Yes. I'll escort Major de la Fère to the hospital now. I would appreciate you smoothing the path.”

“Don’t abuse the privilege, colonel. A brief visit only.”

Lemay cleared his through. “To allow him longer is the best course of action. Medically.”

“Any trouble, and the blame will fall on you, doctor. We’re done here.”

“Pompous, overbearing man,” Treville muttered as they walked back to the tent.

“He’s frightened, colonel. Could you not tell?”

“I don’t care if he’s shitting himself. No one treats my people like this.”

“For now, I want to concentrate on your people, not the bureaucracy. I’m very concerned about what’s happening to Porthos and Aramis. Colonel, you _must_ get them out of detention. They could easily die from the stress this must be causing them.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that, doctor.” He took a deep breath. “Right now, we have to work out how to tell Athos without killing _him._ ”

*************************

Athos stood as Treville and Lemay entered the tent. It wasn’t good news, he could already tell from the set of Treville’s mouth, and Lemay’s failed attempt to look cheerful. “Is he dead?”

“No, no,” Lemay said, coming over and putting his hand on Athos’s shoulder. “In fact we have permission for you to visit him.”

“Good. But...Aramis? Porthos? Something’s happened, hasn’t it.”

Treville put his hand on Athos’s other shoulder and Athos had the sense that the two men were ready for him to go berserk. “Nothing’s happened to them physically. They’re being flown back to France today.”

“But?”

“For now, they’re staying in detention.”

Athos shook them off, and Lemay stepped back. “Why? They’ve literally done nothing wrong!”

“Calm down,” Treville snapped. “Your anger is understandable. I feel the same. But right now, they’re safe, and I want to get you all away from here before I kick up a stink. Doctor Lemay will fight this on medical grounds, and I’ll fight it on legal ones. You concentrate on helping d’Artagnan. You can’t do anything for the others.”

“I could break them out. They could break out.” He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest from stress. His head was pounding and his vision sparkling.

“And be shot on the spot.”

“Colonel, give me a minute.” Lemay put his hand back on Athos’s shoulder. “Sit down, Athos. Please. You’re starting to hyperventilate.”

Athos obeyed, and Lemay told him to close his eyes, while taking his hands and massaging them gently with his thumbs. “I want you to think of something pleasurable. Being with Charles, perhaps. Imagine him here, holding your hands like this. And breathe, slow. In, out. In...out. Not too deep. Just easy breaths. You’re with a good friend now.”

He felt another pair of hands on his shoulders, placing careful pressure. He tried to imagine those were Aramis’s, or Porthos’s. “Good, Athos. Relax. Soon you’ll see Charles. He’s awake now. Doing well. Cheeky as usual.” Athos smiled. “Good. Breathe. Well done.”

Athos opened his eyes. Lemay smiled at him. “Much better. I know there’s are difficulties but you also know that solving this kind of thing needs a calm mind and strategy. You’re good at that. So concentrate on your role. Keep Charles safe and well. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Colonel, some water.”

“Sorry,” Athos muttered, embarrassed at being seen like this by Treville.

“Not at all. Your response is perfectly appropriate. Thank you,” Lemay added, taking the bottle from Treville. “Now, drink this. Do you want to take anything to keep you calm?”

Athos took a long swallow of water. “No. Not now. You’ll be with me?”

“Of course. We both will.”

“I won’t let you down, son,” Treville said behind Lemay’s back. “I’ve kept my promises to now. I’m not planning to stop.”

“I know. Can we go see d’Artagnan now?”

“Certainly,” Lemay said, rising. “We’ve gained you permission to spend time with him for longer than originally suggested. But you can’t remain there. It will be bad for both of you and will provoke the commandant.”

“I don’t really care...but, understood,” he said at Treville’s stern look.

The guards at the door of their quarters insisted on accompanying them all to the hospital, though thankfully did not follow them in. Treville was in full colonel “don’t fuck with me” mode, while Lemay played peacekeeper. Athos concentrated on the prospect of seeing Charles.

His brother was in a ward on his own, with guards at the door. The guards looked like they would refuse Treville entry, but Treville’s polite determination and Lemay’s insistence the commandant had authorised the visit, won the day. Athos walked in. D’Artagnan was lying propped up, staring towards the door. “I heard you,” he said, as Athos came over to him and took his hand. “Oh, God, I missed you.”

Athos leaned in and rested his forehead on d’Artagnan’s forehead. “I’m sorry for abandoning you.”

“Porthos? Aramis?” D’Artagnan shifted and winced in pain.

“Safe, for now. In custody.”

“Why? What did they do? Sir?”

Treville and Lemay stood at the end of the bed, Lemay checking the notes. “It’s a political mess-about, that’s all," Treville said. "Don’t worry about it. Athos is right. They’re safe, and soon you’ll all be back in France together, I swear that. How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

Athos frowned. “Charles.”

D’Artagnan shrugged, then winced again. “I’m sore. But I’m ready to go anytime you are.”

“You are not, young man,” Lemay said, though he smiled. “Two more days, and then maybe we can medevac you. Athos will be travelling with you too.”

“Not them?”

“No. They go back today. Best thing,” Athos said, lying for the lad’s sake. “They’ll be treated better in France than here.”

D’Artagnan slumped back. “I don’t understand. The camp was a trap. The whole thing was a trap. Now this. Are they trying to get us killed?”

Athos could have answered this, but didn’t. “Treville is investigating, isn’t that right, sir?”

“Yes,” Treville said firmly, as if he had the smallest chance of discovering the truth. “Don’t worry about that, d’Artagnan. You concentrate on healing.”

“And resting,” Lemay said. “You didn’t sleep well.”

“I can’t, on my own. I don’t trust these people.”

Athos didn’t blame him. “Sir, what are the chances I could stay with him overnight?”

“Small,” Treville admitting. D’Artagnan’s hand in Athos’s tensed. “But I could propose that perhaps we could split shifts between the three of us. And if you can get the rest you need during the day, Athos can spend more time then rather than at night.”

“What bloody difference does it make if it’s day or night, sir?”

Athos wanted to know that too. “It’s a delicate situation here,” Treville said. “Doctor, do you have anything you need to do for him?”

“I’d like to talk to his doctors, but other than that, nothing.”

“Then Athos, stay here until two. The doctor will relieve you then, until say eight?” Lemay nodded. “And I’ll take the night shift. Athos can return in the morning.”

“This is nuts,” d’Artagnan said. “Are they afraid of me?”

“Yes,” Athos said quietly. “So let’s pretend they aren’t bonkers and do as they tell us.”

D’Artagnan stared at him for a long time before nodding. “I’m worried about our brothers.”

Athos leaned in and kissed his cheek, murmuring, “Me too.”

Treville walked to the door. “Right. Athos, you know what to do.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he said with feeling. That earned him a brief smile, but Treville wasn’t hiding his worry all that well.

Once they were alone, Athos gave D’Artagnan a careful hug, and moved his chair as close as he could. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“No. I’m on morphine, I think. I should be zonked, but I’m not. Crazy body.”

“Yeah.”

“Did the hostages get out? I don’t remember much after I was shot. Only Aramis treating me.”

“No. The militants killed them. That was the plan all along, I think. Show us as failures.”

D’Artagnan looked away, his eyes filling. “They killed those people to do that?”

“I think so. Charles, look at me.” D’Artagnan obeyed. “We had no control over that. You had no control. It’s not on you, or me, or any of us.”

“No comfort to them.”

“No.” He squeezed d’Artagnan’s hand again. “We have to be strong, because Porthos and Aramis need us. I need you too. I feel like I’m losing it.”

D’Artagnan reached out and stroked his hair. “I’ll be strong for you. You didn’t let me die. I won’t let you fall.”

Athos bent over d’Artagnan’s hand, his eyes closed, his heart full. At least he had this. He wasn’t alone.

*************************

The only thing that stopped Treville throwing a full-blown tantrum over the blatant obstructionism and lies he encountered over the next two days was knowing he had to present a calm, supportive face to Athos and d’Artagnan. Athos, especially. Much as the lack of physical freedom and concern about his imprisoned men wore on Treville, it was a dozen times worse for Athos, and much more likely to harm him. Lemay worked hard to take some of the burden from him, winning permission for Athos to use the exercise facilities, and doing his best to comfort the man about Aramis and Porthos.

Their joint efforts certainly had a positive effect on d’Artagnan, who was as recovered in two days as most men would be in ten. But Athos seemed to have aged ten years in the same period, and Treville was horribly afraid he would lose the man before he’d solved the situation with his comrades—not from suicide, but the effects of the stress. The one thing these enhanced individuals simply could not tolerate for long, Lemay said, was prolonged, severe stress combined with inactivity. Aramis and Porthos could be just as at risk. Treville had to get them out of detention.

He hadn’t been in the army for thirty years for nothing, and while he didn’t have the networks that Richelieu had built up over his long and evil career, Treville knew a few people with power and influence. He worked them as hard as he dared while in Ivory Coast, and prepared a dossier to deliver to them when they arrived back in France. He suggested to Athos that they all spent some time at his parents’ estate while d’Artagnan recovered.

“Why?”

“Because you need the support, and so does he. More than that, I need to talk to your father.”

“My father is retired, sir.”

“Only just. Please, Athos. Just ask them.”

“Yes, of course.”

D’Artagnan was ready to travel on the third day, and Treville wasted no time in getting him off the base. Other than Doctor Lemay’s presence, they didn’t even have to make any special arrangements for him, though he and the others were permitted to travel business class on a regular airline for his comfort.

Lemay certainly kept an eye on d’Artagnan but he seemed more worried about Athos, though the man only looked fatigued to Treville. Athos’s parents lived just north of Paris, and Treville had secured a car for their group’s use for two weeks. Athos was quiet even for him as Treville drove them from Charles de Gaulle airport just after dawn, and d’Artagnan didn’t release his hand for the entire journey.

General de la Fère received them at the entrance to his grand mansion with dignity, but when he saw his son, he rushed forward and took his arm. “Athos, you’re ill.”

“No, Papa. Just tired. Charles is injured.”

Two maids and a male servant came forward to help with bags, and to assist D’Artagnan to his room. But the general didn’t let go of his son’s arm, and it was to his room, not D’Artagnan’s, that Lemay went first.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Athos’s mother, Treville presumed. She stood at the doorway while her husband and the doctor fluttered around Athos, who was lying on the bed with his eyes closed. “Possibly strain of travel,” Lemay said. “I need to keep an eye on him, _madame_.”

“What about the other man?”

“I’ll look in on him,” Treville said, and Madame de la Fère followed him. D’Artagnan sat on his bed, apparently unable to undress with the sling and wounds impeding him. Treville helped him change into pyjamas, and Madame arranged his pillows for maximum comfort.

“I have a maid who will look after you, monsieur.”

“Please call me Charles, _madame_. And thank you. How is Athos?” he asked Treville.

“He’s just tired. Nothing to worry about. Madame, some food would be welcome. Something light and nourishing.”

“Warm oatmeal, perhaps? And hot chocolate?”

“Sounds good,” d’Artagnan said with a smile.

“I’ll arrange it. Colonel, please come and find me when he’s settled.”

“Yes, _madame_.”

As soon as she left, D’Artagnan grabbed Treville’s arm. “What’s really wrong with him?”

“I don’t know, son. Lemay’s looking at him now. I need you to be calm and strong and cooperative at all times. Please. We’re fighting a battle on two fronts here.”

The lad stared, then nodded. “Understood. I should be with him though. He needs it.”

“As soon as we can arrange it. I need to explain things to his mother, and we need to be sure he’s not sicker than he looks.”

D’Artagnan let go of his arm. “Don’t let him die, sir. Don’t let him give up.”

“I promise I won’t.” Though Treville wanted to know more about what exactly Athos’s past concealed that had nearly driven him to suicide. “Will you be right for a couple of minutes? I want to check on him.”

“Of course.”

In the next bedroom, Lemay was sitting on the bed next to Athos listening to his heart. “Some inflammation in his throat, and his lymphatic glands are swollen.”

“He has a cold?”

Lemay shook his head. “No, he has a throat infection. I’ll monitor it, and we should be able to manage it. Rest will probably be enough. Rest and Charles’s company a little later on.”

“Company?” Athos’s father said, confused.

Treville drew him aside. “I’ll explain to you and Madame de la Fère at the same time, sir, if I may. We should let the doctor deal with it. Your wife is arranging breakfast for the lieutenant, and he’ll want to sleep after that, I suspect.”

The general was tall, distinguished, and shared with his son, a piercing gaze that defied one to ignore the owner at their peril. “Very well. I expect a very _full_ explanation, colonel.”

“Certainly, sir.”

The maid was in D’Artagnan’s room, and the lad looked well settled. “Madame invites you to have breakfast with her in the dining room, colonel.”

“Thank you.”

The general led Treville downstairs, where breakfast was indeed served. He’d eaten on the plane, but the coffee was welcome. “Now, colonel, what the hell is going on with my son?”

The general knew the broad theory of what Athos had signed up for, and the broad effects, same as anyone else in the military knew about the enhanced. Athos’s extra abilities were a surprise, but not a shock. “Unfortunately, the army failed to place the men where they could be best used, and also failed to integrate them properly. It seems General Richelieu has a secret agenda which meant they were never to be allowed to succeed.”

Athos’s parents sat stunned as Treville explained their son and his three brothers had been detained and placed under a death sentence, Madame reached for her husband’s hand. “No. Impossible. Not even Richelieu would go so far.”

“I’m afraid we think he’s gone further.” Treville laid out what he’d discovered about the animus between Richelieu and Aramis, and what had just happened on the mission. “I have statements and other evidence, but no way of using it. That’s what I’ve come to ask you for, sir.”

The general waved that aside. “In a moment. Explain this ‘company’ thing.”

“The four of them have formed extremely strong bonds, sir. This is the longest they have been separated, and Doctor Lemay tells me that it’s harming them. Physical closeness, contact, reduce their stress levels—and improve their effectiveness. D’Artagnan’s healing rate has increased since Athos was allowed to visit him, and once Athos is stable, I recommend the two men be allowed to share a bed.”

“He’s gay?” Madame said, frowning. “But he married a woman, and I know it was not for show. I suppose he could be bisexual?”

“As they explain it, it’s not sexual. They have no sexual desire, no libido, and no, um...capacity.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Please, colonel. I’m a doctor. Erectile dysfunction?”

“Complete. The physical closeness is almost a spiritual need.”

“Like babies who need it to thrive. But colonel, they’re all grown men.”

“Yes, _madame_. Perhaps Doctor Lemay could discuss it with you.”

She nodded. “So, what do you intend to do with this information you have?”

“Embarrass Richelieu into letting my men in custody go free.”

The general laughed humourlessly. “Embarrass? The man doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Show me your files, colonel. This needs a proper plan of attack.”

“I was hoping you would say that, sir.”

His wife stood, and kissed the top of her husband’s head. “You talk to the colonel, dear. I want a word with this Doctor Lemay, and with our boy.”

“Madame, one thing. I know that Athos’s decline in happiness dates from the death of his brother and wife. Is there more to that?”

“My husband can explain.” With that, she walked off and closed the door behind her. Treville poured himself more coffee. He had a feeling he’d need it.

The general fixed him with a steely blue gaze. “Is there a reason to know our private affairs, colonel?”

“Only that your son admitted to me that he was suicidal, and leaving the army would most likely lead to his death. I can’t see a connection.”

“He blames himself for the deaths, with no reason, I might add.”

“Why?”

“I honestly don’t know. All we know is that his wife, Anne, died in a car crash, and when we went to their house to tell Athos, Thomas was there, dead by his own hand. His service pistol. No note, no explanation. Athos collapsed when we told him the news. He was on the base, nowhere near the house, in case you’re wondering.”

“The two deaths are connected?”

“One assumes so, but we have no idea why. I don’t think he does. But he and Thomas were very close, as he and Anne were. Did she kill him and fake a suicide? The police say no. We do not have the answers. It troubles me, troubles us both, but Athos’s reaction....” He shook his head. “Quite disproportionate.”

“You haven’t talked about it?”

The general stared past his shoulder. “No. Where are your files, colonel?”

*************************

Athos found it hard to breathe, but once Lemay put another pillow behind him, it was easier. “What’s wrong with me?” he asked through a throat full of gravel. It really hurt.

“Throat infection, I think,” the doctor said, smiling at him. He rolled up Athos’s sleeve, and injected him with something. “That should help, as will resting and trying not to become stressed.”

“I’m sick of being still, doctor.”

“I can understand that. A day or two, no more. And later, Charles can join you. Just let him settle in.”

Athos nodded. His neck was stiff too, and all his joints ached. It felt like the flu.

“Athos, how are you?” His mother appeared from behind Lemay and bent to kiss his cheek.”

“I’m fine, _maman_. And you?”

“Better than you, I hear. Doctor, what can we do for him?”

“Rest, quiet, lots of liquid, light food when he wants it.”

“A change of clothes would help, I think.”

“I don’t have one,” Athos said, conscious he was wearing clothes that he’d worn for nearly two days.

“We have pyjamas, and in the meantime, underwear won’t shock me, my dear. Would a bed bath help, doctor?”

“ _Maman_!”

“Hush, Athos. Even from here I can smell you.”

Lemay grinned at them both. “A bed bath would be soothing, I think.”

“Then I’ll give him one. And then you and I will discuss his care. Why don’t you attend to the other young man, while I sort this out?”

“Yes, _madame_.”

Once alone with his mother, and after she’d rung for a maid, Athos tried to protest that he didn’t need a bed bath, and that he could have a shower if he needed one. “Doctor’s orders, son,” she said with a determined look. “Besides, I want to know what they’ve done to you.”


	7. Chapter 7

Treville pulled out his laptop and started going over what he had discovered with Doctor Lemay and General de la Fère in the living room. Treville was describing what he had on the mission that had ended so badly. Deep in conversation with the two of them, the door slamming open made him jump. A breathless maid gasped, “Doctor, Madame needs you right now!”

Lemay ran after the woman, Treville and the general hot on his heels. When they reached Athos’s room, Athos’s mother stood at the door, watching Lemay listening to Athos’s chest. “His lungs are filling up with fluid,” she said. "He needs to be on oxygen in the hospital. Olivier, please make sure someone’s waiting for the paramedics.”

The general slipped away immediately. Treville bit his lip, not sure what he should do, then he remembered D’Artagnan. The lad would wonder what was going on, since he could hear all this. He turned to go to the other bedroom, only to find d'Artagnan behind him. "He's sick?"

"Yes. I need you to stay back, d'Artagnan. The paramedics are coming."

"I have to go to him."

Treville considered forcing the man to stay outside, but if Athos was dying....

He stepped aside and d'Artagnan rushed to Athos's side. Athos looked appalling, grey skinned, eyes closed and puffy. He had been raised up to nearly sitting position on pillows, but his breathing was still laboured, harsh. He reacted to D'Artagnan's taking his hand, but otherwise seemed out of it. Madame de la Fère and Lemay were talking urgently on the phone with [SAMU](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emergency_medical_services_in_France).

When the SMUR paramedics and the doctor turned up, they slapped oxygen on Athos immediately. D'Artagnan moved back, and let Treville draw him out of the room. "I need to get dressed. Can I borrow some clothes?"

Treville lent him slacks and shirt, and clean socks. "I'm going with him to the hospital. Will you drive me or will I ask the general?"

"I'll drive you," Treville said, wondering at D'Artagnan's resolute calmness. "But let them do their job."

"Of course."

In the hallway, the general stood watching the activity in his son's bedroom, his expression unreadable. "Sir, may I have a word?"

"Can't it wait, colonel?"

"No, sit, it can't." Treville came closer. "This is what awaits all four of my men. The two in detention may already be suffering. If you know a way to free them, we can't afford to wait. _They_ can't wait. Please."

"Let me see Athos safely away, at least."

"Yes, sir. I'll drive the lieutenant to the hospital. It might help. Athos, I mean."

“As you see fit."

Clearly dismissed, Treville returned to help d'Artagnan. They waited for Athos to be taken downstairs on a gurney, and followed him out to the ambulance. Lemay climbed in with him. "You're following?” he asked Treville. “I'll see you there."

Treville took d'Artagnan's arm, but stopped as Madame walked over. "May I ask for a lift, colonel?"

"Of course."

He put them both in the back so she could keep an eye on D'Artagnan, and forced himself to concentrate on the ambulance ahead. "Madame, do you know what's happening?"

“It’s called acute pulmonary oedema. Normally it’s the result of heart failure, but it can be caused by other things. He’s having a severe inflammatory reaction to something. He’s drowning in his own fluids."

Her detached report would have fooled Treville into thinking she wasn't concerned, if he hadn't glanced in the rear view mirror and seen her pinched expression. "Can it be treated?"

"I don't know. My son isn't exactly normal, is he?"

Treville looked at d’Artagnan in the mirror. The lad’s eyes were stark and scared in his face, revealing his thoughts though he said nothing. “Could you treat him if he was normal?”

“Yes, but I don’t know how it will affect him since he’s not. I hope Doctor Lemay has an answer.”

“What can you give him?” This was d’Artagnan, his voice thick as if he’d been weeping.

“We have to expel the fluid from his lungs, keep him on oxygen, and then address what caused it. He has ulcers in his throat too. Doctor Lemay didn’t know what triggered it. Perhaps just the strep infection. Lemay thinks Ebola’s unlikely, though you did just come from a region rife with it.”

“He said...Athos said...we weren’t at risk, so long as we didn’t come into contact with infected individuals.”

“That’s true,” she said. “I don’t know, dear boy. This isn’t my area of expertise. I’m only a GP. How do you feel? Are you in pain?”

“Not enough to worry about, _madame_.”

They went quiet after that. The ambulance had disappeared from Treville’s sight but he knew where it was going.

As a physician and a relative, Madame de la Fère was allowed into the area where Athos was being treated. Treville and d’Artagnan had to kick their heels in the waiting room. D’Artagnan’s distress levels were rising, judging by his agitated knee jogging and repetitive fist clenching. Treville put his hand on the lad’s arm and left it there. It seemed to help.

“The general thinks he can help free Aramis and Porthos,” Treville said after a bit.

D’Artagnan looked at him. “Really? God, I hope so.”

“Me too.”

“I know we’re dying. But I’m not ready to die yet. None of us are.”

“Lemay’s working as fast as he can. He even had a small breakthrough the other day, though it doesn’t help you yet.”

D’Artagnan nodded, but said nothing. It wasn’t particularly good news, Treville supposed.

After a long silence, D’Artagnan asked, “Will he find out who set us up?”

“I’m almost certain I know. It’s exposing it that’s hard.”

“Richelieu?”

“I think so.”

“Because of Aramis?”

“Perhaps. Though I suspect there’s more going on.”

“Before I die, I want to see him go to prison.”

Treville squeezed his arm. “You aren’t the only one, I promise you.”

They waited for nearly three hours before Doctor Lemay came out to speak to them. “He’s stable for now. We have him on oxygen, a machine to help him breathe, and drugs to help remove the fluid in his lungs. Then we’ll have to suppress his immune system, which will make him vulnerable to infection. Colonel, I need to take him, all of them, to my clinic. They can’t really deal with him here. What chance has the general of freeing Aramis and Porthos?”

“I don’t know, doctor—”

D’Artagnan interrupted. “Can I see him?”

Lemay frowned. “His mother’s with him—”

“Please?”

It would take a harder heart than Treville’s not to give in to that quiet plea, and Lemay was a soft touch to begin with. “Colonel, why don’t you call his father and tell him what I’ve told you. Emphasise that we don’t think he’s at risk of dying, but that he will be in hospital for a couple of days. I’ll return shortly.”

“Yes. Thank you, doctor.”

Lemay led d’Artagnan away with a hand on his shoulder. Treville braced himself for a difficult conversation.

He’d underestimated the general. The man listened to the report on his son with phlegmatic calm, and switched to the subject of how to help Aramis and Porthos. He already made some phone calls, and had arranged a meeting with the Minister of Defence in Paris for that afternoon—in a mere five hours. Treville was still wearing the uniform he had worn on the plane, and hadn’t even shaved. He also needed to polish some of the reports.

Madame came out just as the general announced this bombshell. “Is that my husband?” she mouthed, and when Treville nodded, she held out her hand for the phone. “Please?”

Treville handed it over, and while she talked to her husband, he thought of what he needed to do before he met the minister. He jumped a little when she nudged him, handing the phone back with the call ended. “You need to go back to the house and get ready for the meeting. I’ll come back with you to collect our car. Charles will wait here. I don’t think we can make him leave. Then you and Olivier can go off and do what needs to be done.”

“Thank you. I was just wondering how to manage it.”

“One thing our family can do is crises. It’s the aftercare we’re dreadful at.”

“Will you tell them I’ll return as soon as I can?”

“Of course. Good luck, colonel. I’ll look after your boys while you’re gone.”

He could have kissed her, but refrained.

General de la Fère had moved Treville’s laptop to his office, and told him to do what he needed to do. He also lent Treville a dressing gown so that his uniform could be quickly cleaned and ironed, and his shoes cleaned. “We must make a good impression, after all.”

“Yes, sir. What about Richelieu?”

“What about him?” The general gave him a smirk so reminiscent of Athos, Treville almost laughed.

In two hours he had written up the reports in a form that a busy minister could quickly read and understand, printed multiple copies of that and the supporting evidence, and had more information sent to him which he could also use in support. He also printed the reports from the ‘insufferables’ successful missions, and transcribed from his notes with Athos about the last disastrous one.

“I was thinking,” he said to the general as he collated the last copies, “the minister should meet d’Artagnan. He’s the very model of the kind of soldier France needs, who only wants to serve, and whose life has been destroyed by this programme.”

The general frowned. “You mean to make a blatantly emotional and patriotic appeal, using this young man?”

“The president likes that kind of thing.”

“The minister does not. We’ll do better to emphasise how Richelieu has played him like a fool, to the detriment of his reputation. Don’t make the mistake of thinking any of these people give a damn about our men, colonel. They do not, unless it plays well in the press.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Now let’s have lunch and I can go over the possible questions with you. You must let me lead on this. Politicians are nasty creatures and I’ve had my vaccinations. You have not.”

Treville snorted. “Perfectly true.”

*************************

Athos felt worse than he had ever done in his life. He had a mask over his face, a catheter over his cock, IVs in his arm, an oxygen monitor on one finger and his chest, which was covered with monitor leads, felt like a horse had sat on it. But that was an improvement over earlier when he was absolutely sure he was going to die.

Charles was with him now, so that was better than earlier too. They couldn’t talk easily, but Charles holding his hand was all he needed. He had the feeling he’d been an insufferable nuisance, but it wasn’t like he had any control.

The pain in his throat had eased, and his joints didn’t hurt now, though whether because of pain relief or actual improvement, he had no idea, and no interest in finding out. He felt like shit.

A cool, gentle hand on his forehead was lovely. He opened his eyes. _Maman. “_ With us again, son?” He nodded. “Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital.” She worked it out even with the mask.

“Charles is here. You know that?” Again he nodded. “Your colonel and your father are meeting the Minister of Defence right now. They’re trying to free your friends.”

He managed to give her the thumbs up. To her side, Charles grinned. “Home?” Athos asked.

“Not today. At least another day, maybe two. But you’ll feel better soon, Doctor Lemay promises that.”

He squeezed Charles’s hand. “Go.”

“Not bloody likely.”

“ _Maman_? Make him.”

“I believe he already answered you, darling.”

With tremendous effort, and his mother trying to stop him, he pulled the mask off. “Charles. Go. Home. Order. Am. Fine.” Every word was torture.

“I can’t, Athos. Please.”

Damn it, was Charles crying? “ _Maman_.”

“It’s all right, dear. Charles, Athos will want to sleep soon. Go home and rest, and come back in the morning. Doctor Lemay will remain.”

“Madame, you don’t understand. He needs one of us here to help him heal.”

“I do understand, and you’ve already helped him a great deal. But until his lungs are completely clear, there’s nothing you can do for him. He’s quite safe.”

“He’s all that’s left. We can’t be alone.”

“I understand. Doctor Lemay explained. But you are badly injured, and Athos will only fret if you stay.”

“Yes,” Athos whispered. “Go home. _Maman_ , you too.”

“Oh I will,” she said with a laugh, before she pushed the mask back on Athos’s face. “Charles, please, don’t fight us. Colonel Treville said he would come this evening. When he does, Athos won’t be alone. We can leave then?”

Athos squeezed Charles’s hand again, and thankfully, the lad got it and agreed. “All right. When he gets here. Athos can’t be alone.”

“I know. And we can all hear how it went.”

Lemay breezed in. “Ah, you’re conscious. That’s an improvement. I dare say you want to know what happened. You seem to have contracted a throat infection, probably back at the Abidjan base, and your body overreacted. We’re correcting the excess of fluid in your lungs, and then we’ll put you on immunosuppressants for a bit. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Athos gave him the thumbs up. For himself, he didn’t much care whether he lived or not, but he hated to upset his mother or d’Artagnan.

He drifted in and out, waking sometimes to find his mother there, or Doctor Lemay, or a nurse, or a doctor he didn’t know. But always d’Artagnan, holding his hand. Athos wanted the lad to go home and heal up, but he dreaded him going.

When he woke at one point, he knew he must have been out a couple of hours, since it was dark. And d’Artagnan was gone, as was his mother. Oh well, he’d told them to go. His chest felt better, but he was far from well. He closed his eyes again, hoping he would sleep until d’Artagnan returned.

“I don’t know. We leave you for a few days and you turn into a slacker.”

His eyes flew open, and he grinned. “Aramis.”

His friend grinned, and bent in to kiss his forehead. “The very same. Porthos is off cuddling d’Artagnan.”

“How?”

“Our beloved colonel, of course.” Aramis pulled up a chair, and took Athos’s hand. He looked dirty and tired and the lines around his eyes were not from smiling. “He and your father met with the minister, who authorised our immediate release into Treville’s custody. I gather General Richelieu has some difficult questions to answer, and your father thinks he’ll be invited to retire with extreme prejudice. How do you feel?”

Athos shrugged. “Okay.”

“Better than dead.”

“You?”

Aramis’s hand tightened on his. “I’ve had better vacations. I think if they try and separate us again, it would be kinder to shoot us in the head.”

He wasn’t smiling. Athos struggled to lean forward, and gripped the back of his friend’s head so he could hold him close. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault. I should have had more sense since I didn’t do him a bit of good by fighting. At least one of us kept our head. Treville might never had found out where we were otherwise.” Aramis gently pushed Athos back and settled him on the pillows. “Stay calm, get better. Lemay wants us all to go to his clinic because he’s worried this will happen again. But not immediately. Your mother is kidnapping us so we can have a little time together.”

“Good.”

“This is where you sloped off to, eh?” Porthos filled the doorway. “Come here, you.” He leaned over to hug Athos and kiss his cheek. “Sight for sore eyes, isn’t he?”

“You too.”

“Sight, yeah. Not smell. Facilities were a bit one star. Aramis, his mum wants to feed us. Athos, you okay if we go—?”

Athos waved him off. “Yes.”

“D’Artagnan’s gonna come too. And your dad—”

“Is here. How are you, my boy?” Aramis got out of the way so Athos’s father could take his hand. “Gave us a bit of a fright. You’ll be glad to know we did the same to Richelieu.”

Athos grinned. He pulled the mask away from his face. “Details later. Thank you.”

“Put that back on, or I’ll have to explain it to your mother.” Athos obeyed. “I’m taking these men back to the house. I’ll see you when they release you. Make it soon.”

Aramis kissed him again, and so did Porthos, before his father took them away. The room immediately felt colder, but knowing they were free would console Athos quite nicely.

*************************

Athos’s parents left in their own car as soon as his father came back with Porthos and Aramis from their visit. Treville looked in on the patient before he left, but found him soundly asleep. “Should I stay?” he asked Lemay.

“Come back tomorrow. He’s sedated and I don’t expect him to be too upset now he’s seen his men and they’re all safe.”

“D’Artagnan?”

The lad bit his lip. “I don’t like him to be alone, but we’re all tired, and he’ll be cranky if we wear ourselves out for him.”

D’Artagnan, with his injuries, was the worst for wear of all of them, but Aramis and Porthos had not been treated with any kindness or consideration in detention, and Doctor Lemay had already said he wanted them all to rest and eat. “Then let’s go. He’ll understand.”

“Maybe I should—”

Aramis and Porthos cut off D’Artagnan’s wibbling by each taking an arm and marching him carefully outside. “Best way to handle him,” Lemay said, grinning at their antics. “You too, colonel.”

Treville was in too good a mood to take offence. He wanted his dinner, and a long sleep in a real bed. His three ‘insufferables’ sat in the back seat with their arms around entwined, talking nonstop, desperate to assure themselves the others were healthy. When they arrived at the house, Treville discovered the de la Fère staff had been busy. A spare single bed had been pushed up against the double one d’Artagnan had used, and a small sitting room had been transformed into a private dining area for them.

“We felt they would want some privacy,” Madame said. “Rather than be forced to be formal with us.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“I’ve also dug out some spare clothes for them. They belonged to Thomas. No one’s using them now, so the boys may as well.”

“Again, very kind. Thank you.”

“You can eat with us if you’d like, or I can have a meal brought to your room.”

“With you, would be lovely.” Doctor Lemay would also join them.

The meal with Athos’s parents wasn’t all that formal, but Treville doubted either of them were up to entertaining three strange men with such peculiar needs in the absence of their son. Madame wanted to hear all the gory details of their meeting with the minister, and the general left it to him to give them.

“The only thing I haven’t discovered is why Richelieu was so determined to wipe out the four of them. Why their success made him so angry.”

The general grunted. “Successes that would highlight the ultimate failure of the programme he pushed for, you mean. In a year’s time, when Athos’s team would no longer be able to complete such missions, and the press began to ask where the men were, Richelieu might be in a position where he had to explain in public what had been done to them. Personal grudges against Captain d’Herblay, me, and possibly you possibly played into that.”

“Why wouldn’t they be able to complete such missions, Olivier?”

At Madame’s words, Lemay went very still, and Treville held his breath. The general pushed his plate away. “Because they’re dying, Claire. I’m sorry. Athos and his friends will be dead in two years at most. A year, more likely.” He got up and walked out of the room.

Madame stared at Lemay. “This isn’t true.”

“I wish it wasn’t, _madame_.”

“Explain.”

Lemay did as kindly as he could, being careful to not overstate the chance of a cure. “So what happened this morning...is just a prelude.”

“It shows that Athos’s immune system is beginning to behave unpredictably, in line with what I expected. Not this soon, and it might be a false alarm, but either their hearts will give out, or their immune system will kill them.”

She covered her mouth. “All of them.”

“Yes. And the five female subjects.”

“The minister knows this?”

“We told him this afternoon,” Treville said. “He was not aware of this aspect of the programme. All he knew was that the successes had been too limited to continue with it, and that Richelieu had ordered it to be shut down.”

“And that’s it? Richelieu retires on a fat pension, and my son, other good people just...die?”

“What more do you want?” Treville asked. “We can’t expose it—it’s classified information. The minister did agree to fund Doctor Lemay’s work, allow him to recruit more researchers, but it will probably be too late for the men. The women might be saved, and the less advanced enhanced soldiers will benefit.”

“I need to go to my husband. Excuse me.”

She walked out and closed the door behind her. Treville put his head in his hands. “I assumed Athos had told them. The general didn’t seem shocked or surprised when we were discussing it.”

“Men of that kind don’t do shock or surprise, colonel. And he’s probably seen worse.”

“What can I do? The truth is the truth.”

“Nothing. I’ll talk to Doctor de la Fère tomorrow, but the facts won’t change. It wouldn’t be any easier to present them if you wait until Athos dies.”

“Is there any point in dragging them back to your clinic, and locking them up?”

“They won’t be locked up,” Lemay said with a little irritation. “And yes. The point is that if Athos has a relapse, or any of the others do, I will know what to do because I’ll expect it.”

“You said you had turned one gene off.”

“Three now, but I also said the enhanced immune systems in the women had switched it back on in forty eight hours.”

“Maybe if you can switch their immune systems off.”

“We tried that....” His eyes suddenly went distant.

“Doctor?”

“I need to call my wife. Excuse me.”

Treville blinked as the man bolted from the room. What a bloody day.

He finished eating, and since no one else was coming back for their meal, he went looking for someone to deal with the dishes. He found a maid in the kitchen and explained. She said she would clean up.

In the absence of his host and hostess, he thought he may as well take himself off to bed, and had his foot on the stairs when Lemay emerged from a room near them. “Colonel! You’re a genius!”

“Eh?”

“Turning off their immune system.”

“You said you’d tried that.”

“Yes, we did. But we didn’t try the gene switch with someone whose immune system was starting to break down anyway.”

“Athos?”

“Athos.” Lemay beamed. “My wife, Constance, will be here tomorrow and we can try it on him. We can try it on all of them—it won’t do them any harm.”

“But his immune system is in overdrive, you said.”

“Yes, parts of it are. But it’s faulty. His infected throat is not healing any faster than it would in you or me. It’s just possible that we can sneak this switch past his body’s defences.”

Treville pursed his lips. “And if you can’t?”

“We keep trying. Constance told me that the switch for some of the genes is now relatively simple to apply. It’s getting it to stick that we can’t manage.”

“What about the other genes?”

“We keep working on them. We don’t have to turn them _all_ off. Just the ones that put their bodies at risk.”

“If I was a praying man, I’d pray for this to work. As it is, I’ll do my best not to jinx it by predicting success.”

Lemay grinned. “A man after my own thinking. Don’t tell his parents.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m going to bed.”

“Sleep well.”

Treville’s three soldiers had left their private sitting room, so were presumably tucked up in bed, wrapped around each other. He almost wished he could ask to join them. He rested his forehead on the door to their bedroom. "Please. Let them live. Let them live."

He didn't believe in a god, a dangerous stance for a soldier, he knew. But surely these four had earned a little grace. A last minute reprieve for men who had acted so honourably, done their duty so faithfully.

Unfortunately the universe gave no favour to goodness, or Richelieu would died thirty years ago. He took himself to bed, hoping his hopelessness would prove as baseless as his childhood faith. _Let them live._

_Please._


	8. Chapter 8

Athos woke, feeling much better all round, except for the pain in his throat which was annoying and made speaking difficult and eating a pain. With feeling better came the need to _move_ , but he had to wait until nurses, and then a doctor, checked all their very important pieces of equipment, decided he wasn’t dying particularly quickly any more, and detached him. “Just walk up and down the halls,” they told him. “Don’t exert yourself.”

 _Bugger that_.

But he had no proper clothes, so wandering around the hospital was all he could do until one of his friends or parents came to visit. To his surprise and disappointment, eleven o’clock came and went with no sign of anyone, and no phone call to explain.

He returned to his room, seriously contemplating calling for a taxi and doing a runner. But before he could do that, Doctor Lemay came into the room. “You look so much better, Athos!”

“Funny, I thought I might have Ebola.” At Lemay’s confusion, he added, “since I’m apparently in isolation.”

“Oh. Oh! No, no, things are happening. I’ve come to take you back to your parents’ house, in fact.” He held up a back pack. “Clothes and toiletries. Your doctor here has released you into my care, so if you’d like to change, we can go.”

That didn’t explain why his brothers hadn’t come, but he assumed there was a good reason, and he was prepared to be patient so long as he got out of this place. He showered and changed, and when he emerged, Lemay offered socks and a pair of loafers that he recognised as belonging to Thomas. _Maman_ wasn’t sentimental like that. None of them were.

Once in Treville’s rental car and on their way, Athos demanded answers. “Is your throat still hurting you?” Lemay asked.

“Yes?”

“Excellent.”

“Doctor, would you please tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“In a nutshell, your immune system is not working well. That gives us a possible route to administer gene therapy without your body rejecting it.”

Athos blinked, getting it at once. “And the others?”

“We’ll try it with them. And we’ll keep trying, if it works on you.”

“How do you do it?”

“We’re using an artificial virus, same as the programme did before to enhance you, but not the same virus. You’ll need multiple treatments, and we can’t use any other drugs on you until we know one way or the other. So unfortunately, your sore throat will just have to heal on its own, and you’re at risk of another bout of pulmonary oedema. I’ll be monitoring you.”

“At your clinic.”

“Eventually.” His cheerful expression slipped. “Ah, your parents only found out yesterday about the side effects of the enhancements. Treville and I assumed you’d told them. They’re very upset.”

“Fuck.” The situation in Abidjan had been so stressful, Athos had simply not thought to pass on the bad news when he asked his father for help and accommodation.

“So the colonel and I thought you and the others could stay for a week or so, so you and your parents can have some time together. My wife has brought the medical supplies down from our clinic that we’ll need to treat any recurrence of the oedema.”

“Wife?” For some reason Lemay had struck him as permanently celibate.

“Yes. Constance. She’s a nurse practitioner and one of my best researchers. You’ll like her. People always do.”

Athos nodded, but wondered how his parents were coping with this sudden influx of strangers, as well as the information about his health. As if reading his mind, Lemay added, “I won’t be staying, and the colonel is flying to Pau this afternoon for a couple of days to deal with outstanding matters. There, er, will be some repercussions from Richelieu’s fall from grace.”

“Of course.” And where did that leave Athos and his brothers, if the treatment worked. Or if it didn’t. “Does this gene therapy mean I have to sit on my arse even longer? Because I’m going slightly mad.”

“No, normal exercise—normal for a normal person—is fine, though you need to be careful and have someone with you in case you have a bad reaction. The general mentioned horse riding.”

“Ah, yes.” He was surprised his parents had kept the horses. He’d thought they might sell them after Thomas’s death. Then again, Athos had not been in touch enough to know what they had done—or how they had coped. He had been a negligent son in so many ways.

As they pulled up in front of the house, d’Artagnan came flying down the steps and just about pulled Athos out of the passenger seat into a tight hug. “I missed you too,” Athos murmured against his shoulder, smiling at his brother. He looked up and saw Aramis and Porthos beaming from the stop of the stairs, Treville to one side, smiling a little. “Let’s go in.”

Inside, Athos stopped. His parents stood there, grim-faced, silent, waiting. “I’m sorry,” he said. His mother held her arms out to him and he came into them, letting her cry on his shoulder. “I meant to tell you.”

When she released him, he found his father staring at him. “Did you think we wouldn’t care?” he asked Athos.

“No, Papa. It’s been...we’re still shocked ourselves. And in Abidjan, things were a bit confused.”

“We should talk, once the doctor finished with you.”

“Yes, sir.” His father walked away, _Maman_ beside him. Athos had never wanted to hurt them like this.

Chastened, Athos turned to see where Lemay had got to. He found him standing with a sweet-faced, auburn-haired young woman. “Athos, my wife and collaborator, Constance.”

“Pleased to meet you, _madame_.”

Her smile made her cheeks dimple as she took his hand. “Please, call me Constance, Athos.”

“We should get on, so Constance can go back to the clinic later,” Lemay said. “We’ve set up in your bedroom.”

If Athos thought he would be undertaking this experimental treatment on his own, he would have been disappointed. But he’d never thought that, so an attentive audience of three was only what he expected. Doctor and Madame Lemay asked him a series of questions, then poked and prodded and drew blood, punctured him for tissue, checked his throat, ears and chest, without paying any attention to the three men stood in the door way watching every move.

“How are the injuries, d’Artagnan?” He’d noticed the lad had abandoned the sling.

“Fine, unfortunately.”

“Eh?”

Lemay kept working as he explained. “It means his immune system is probably too efficient for the therapy to take. But he’s a lot younger than you, so that’s not surprising. Now, we’re about to inject you with the virus.”

Athos barely noticed the sting of the injection. “That’s it?”

“For now. You’ll receive another dose twice a day. Constance will remain to keep a close eye on you in case of any reaction. We’ll take more tissue samples after forty-eight hours, and then after five days.”

“And these three?”

“The same. If nothing else, we can gauge the health of their immune system. I would bet that Aramis is probably the next best bet for success, based on age.”

“Don’t look so worried,” Constance said. “I’ll take very good care of you.”

“I’m not worried about that.” She peered at him in confusion. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“We keep trying, my love.” She patted his cheek. “All done. Who’s next?”

His friends were in good hands, so he didn’t need to watch them go through the same tedious business. He went downstairs to find his parents. They were in the garden, Papa at a table looking at a newspaper, _Maman_ kneeling next to a flowerbed, weeding. “They’re done with me for now.”

“And are you well?”

“Yes, Papa. I have a sore throat, that’s all.”

“I’ll ring for tea.” His father did that, then sat down again. “We aren’t going to let this rest. And we want you to leave the army.”

“Papa?”

His mother came to sit with them, pulling off her gloves as she did so. “Athos, if you really only do have a year or so of health or life, do you think we want you stuck in army barracks or worse? Please, let us have your company while we can. The army has shown how little they care for your welfare.”

“But the others are....”

“Welcome as you are. All of you, stay,” his father said. To Athos’s horror, he realised Papa had been crying. He’d never seen this, even at Thomas’s funeral.

“For me, I have no problem. I’ll ask them. But I can’t believe it’s you asking for this, Papa.”

“It’s taken this to make me realise the powers in charge now aren’t worthy of this family’s service.”

“Richelieu’s going.”

“But the minister in charge is not. The soldiers he allowed to be damaged will be forgotten, the soldiers they’ve already killed written off. They don’t deserve you.”

“I just...it’s my life, Papa. Like it was yours.”

“Son,” his mother said, taking his hand, “we want to give you a chance to have a life outside the army, even if it’s only for a short time. You should have had children with Anne, a life as a father and husband. Now, you won’t. It breaks my heart. Our hearts.”

Athos bit his lip to stop himself weeping. “Not your fault,” he muttered, before swiping at his eyes.

“It’s not yours either. None of it. Not this horrible mess, and not Thomas and Anne either. You have to let that go, Athos. I don’t want to watch you punish yourself any more for their deaths.”

“You did the same. You lost all your joy in life, _maman_. As if he was the only son that mattered.” He pulled his hand away, shocked at how bitter he felt. “I know he was your favourite.”

“Stop it.” His father glared. “You couldn’t possibly be more wrong, Athos. And we have never, _never_ , understood why you think their deaths had anything to do with you. Why do you? What are you not telling us?”

“I can’t tell you. I swore I would never tell you.”

“Swore to who? Thomas? Anne?” His mother was angry and confused.

“No, myself.”

“Why? Do you think us so weak?”

“Because Thomas was...you loved him, as was right. I’m not going to change that.” He tried to rise but this time it was his father’s hand on his arm. “Papa, I beg you.”

“No. _I’m_ begging _you_.”

“We both are,” his mother said, claiming his other arm. “Please, my beloved son.”

He swallowed back tears. “ _Maman_ , you won’t thank me.”

“We don’t thank you now for taking this all on yourself, as if you are the only one who can. Please. Do I have to get on my knees to you?” She actually moved to do that, but he grabbed her and held her close.

“No! No, _maman_ , don’t.” The maid arrived with a tea tray. “Let me have something to drink. My throat hurts to talk. Then I will.”

His mother turned to the maid. “Sarah, would you please stop anyone else coming out here until I tell you otherwise?”

“Yes, _madame_.”

His mother poured him a cup of tea and handed it over. She sipped her own, waiting patiently for him to finish before putting her cup down. “Now, Athos. What do you know about their deaths that we don’t.”

“He left a note. Not at the scene, but posted to me at the base. I didn’t get it until nearly two weeks after he...died.”

She frowned at him. “You concealed it? Why?”

“And you hid it from the coroner too? That’s a criminal act, Athos,” his father said.

“Yes. But what difference would it have made to the verdict? He killed himself. That’s still true.”

“But why?”

Athos had to walk around the garden to alleviate his stress. “Anne and I were happily married. Thomas was close to her and we were all, I thought, good friends. Three days before he died, she came to me in distress. He’d tried to rape her.”

His mother covered her mouth in shock. “You believed her?” his father said.

“I didn’t want to. Surely she had to be mistaken, but no. She showed me the bruises on her arm, and I knew she wasn’t lying. I went to see him at work, confronted him. He swore up and down it was a mistake, that he’d been messing around with her, and she’d misinterpreted his behaviour. I threatened to tell his CO, and you, if it was really true. I told Anne what he’d said, and she was furious with both of us. She left to spend a couple of nights with her mother. It was the last time I saw her alive.”

His chest pained him, but it wasn’t the oedema coming back. He poured himself more tea, irrationally glad that his throat stung so much. It _should_ hurt to talk of this.

“I heard nothing more from either of them until the police came to tell me they’d found him in our house, and then the news about Anne. Naturally I was on compassionate leave while we dealt with all that and the funerals, so I didn’t receive his letter until I returned to work.” He drank more tea. “It was rambling, crazed, but what I learned was that he was incredibly jealous of me over Anne, that he hated me for getting in his way with her, and that he would make sure he punished us both. There was a lot of nonsense, him talking about supposed insults I’d dealt him, ways that she had somehow secretly transmitted her undying affection for him. Quite horrible and insane. I didn’t want your memory of him tainted by that.”

“Athos, I’m so sorry,” _Maman_ said. “But I don’t see how that makes his death your fault.”

“He said he had to kill himself because of what I’d threatened.”

His parents went very still. He hung his head. “So it’s my fault.”

“No, Athos—”

“ _Maman_ , I messed it up in so many ways. I could have just gone to the police with Anne, let them deal with it. I could have gone to you, or his CO, immediately, or said nothing to him about doing so. I should have gone after Anne and kept her safe with me. I knew even if it was a ‘joke’ in his mind, she was still really frightened. I shouldn’t have told her what he said. It was an insult to her intelligence. But I was still thinking we could somehow sort it out, the three of us. Because I loved them both.”

He put his cup down and walked away a little. “I’m sorry. I will never not be sorry. And I don't think you knowing any of this helps you at all.”

“Athos.”

He shook his head and refused to look at his mother.

“Athos, turn around.”

Obedience to his father was too ingrained to ignore, but though he turned, he wouldn’t meet his father’s eyes. “You’re wrong, Athos. Wrong about all of it.”

“You didn’t see what he wrote.”

“I don’t have to. I know you. I knew him too. Nothing of what you say surprises me.”

Then he looked up, found his father’s blue eyes piercing him. “You couldn’t have known Thomas would do such a thing.”

“No. But he didn’t have your strong sense of honour, of right and wrong. And more than once your mother and I thought his way of interacting with Anne, with other women, disturbing. I even spoke to him a couple of times about it, but he always apologised, laughed it off. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. A father should teach his son better than that. I thought he’d grow out of it.”

Athos shook his head. “Twenty-nine. Old enough to know better. Not your fault, Papa.”

His mother held out her hand, so he went to her and sat by her side. “Do you know why Anne died?”

“Not for sure. I think he got into our house after she’d returned, and went out of his way to make sure she was thoroughly terrorised before he killed himself in front of her. Anne must have torn out of the house in a panic, and the car accident was her fault. If only I hadn’t been at work that day.”

“Not one of us could have predicted this, Athos. You must stop blaming yourself. Don’t spend the rest of your life punishing yourself, and punishing us.”

“I’m not!”

“Then why haven’t you been home?” his father asked gruffly. “We wanted to see you so badly. But you didn’t come, and then you entered this programme without telling us, and the next time we see you, you’re dying. How is that not punishing us?”

He stared, his eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry.” He lifted his mother’s hand. “Please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Forgiven, my darling boy. We love you, even if we’re not the most demonstrative people. Please don’t go back.”

“I won’t. I promise. I’ll resign immediately.”

His father put his hand on Athos’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

*************************

“What’s going on?” Treville asked, coming into the living room. Aramis was staring through the glass doors to the garden.

“Athos. Having a very painful conversation with his parents.”

“And you’re just listening in?”

Aramis turned to him. “I can hear him anywhere I am on the property, sir. I’m waiting here because when he comes in, he’ll need someone.”

“Ah. My apologies. I’ll go away.”

A maid found him as he wandered through to the front of the house. “Colonel, there is food for lunch ready for you. The general insists you and the others should eat when you wish and not wait for him.”

“Thank you. Dining room?”

“Yes, colonel. I’ll bring it in for you.”

It was a generous and delicious meal, and Treville felt only a little guilty about enjoying it while his men were being poked and injected and annoyed in various ways. Doctor Lemay and Constance joined him ten minutes later, the maid following them in with their meal. “All done?” Treville asked

“For now,” Lemay said.

“Where are they?”

Constance gave him a serious look. “Taking care of a friend. I’ve known dogs less loyal than that lot.”

“Yes. It’s endearing, if sometimes irritating,” Treville said. “I mean, when they line up against me.”

Lemay chuckled. “Leave them to Constance. She’ll have them eating out of her hand.”

“I hope not,” she said tartly. “They’re people, not animals.”

“Quite,” Treville said, liking her even more.

The general and Madame joined them as they were drinking coffee. “My apologies for leaving you to your own devices,” the general said. They didn’t take a seat, and both looked exhausted. “Madame Lemay, are you happy with your accommodation and facilities?”

“Completely, sir. Thank you for having me.”

“It’s the least we can do. Colonel, may we have a word in private?”

“Of course.” He followed them out and into the general’s office.

The general asked him to sit. “My wife and I want Athos to resign the army and live the rest of the time left to him here, with us. Can that be arranged? He’s agreed.”

“Of course. Though the treatment will still be carried out through the Army’s auspices.”

Madame curled a lip at that. “I’m only glad Doctor Lemay is a civilian. The other three, can they be released?”

“If they want. They have nowhere else to go though.”

“They would remain here. We want to give them the best life we can, while we can.”

“Very kind, sir.”

“There’s something else,” Madame said, her tone turning steely. “Athos agreed to join this programme, but nowhere in his agreement does he permit the Army to treat him so dreadfully, to imprison him without cause, to have him and his men nearly killed, or any of the other atrocious things Richelieu did. I plan to seek compensation for them, as well as a proper and generous pension regardless of length of service. Will you help?”

Treville straightened up. “With all my heart, Madame.”

“Excellent. I will engage our family lawyer to begin discussions and she’ll be in contact with you. Her name is Ninon Larroque.”

“I look forward to it.”

“And once they pass away....” She put her hand on her chest as if it pained her. “Olivier and I intend to go public, exposing Richelieu and the minister and everyone else involved in this sorry mess. They can imprison us if they want, but I refuse to let this pass without anyone knowing. Will you help?”

“Yes, _madame_. But can we concentrate on the four men first? And there are five women who will face this same fate in a handful of years. Helping them while they live is the most important thing.”

“Then we must fight for all of them to have a proper income, compensation, and a chance to live a good life, however brief. Yes?”

“Yes,” Treville said. “You have my word of honour on it.”

She gave him a slight smile, which never reached her eyes. “My son and Doctor Lemay both trust you. That counts for a lot with me.” She rose. “What time do you expect to leave?”

“Any time now. I can stay or go at your will.”

“Olivier, are we finished with the colonel?”

“For now, my dear. But, colonel, don’t feel you have to rush away.”

“No, I don’t, but there are things to do, and if the four of them want to leave the army immediately, there are things I can do. I need to speak to them before I go, and then I’ll be off.”

“Then please, finish your meal, and God speed.”

Treville nodded, and stood. “And to you both.”

*************************

Athos waited in the garden after his parents went inside, because he knew his brothers were waiting on the other side of the doors. The three of them came out, and without waiting for him to say anything, enveloped him in a hug that melted the ache in his heart and for now, at least, let him hope that the rest of his days might actually be good.

Aramis took Athos’s face in his hands. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, my friend.”

“Yeah. It’s not something I want to remember so clearly as I do.”

Aramis hugged him again, though he had to do so around d’Artagnan who was glued to Athos’s shoulder. “So, do you all feel like resigning and living in a big posh house with me until we fall to bits?”

Porthos chuckled. “Heh, I thought you’d never ask. You sure your parents can cope?”

“They coped with me, didn’t they?”

D’Artagnan laughed and kissed Athos’s cheek. “We’ll stay with you. Try and get rid of us.”

“I would never try. So, are we all genetically improved and cured yet?”

“No, just hungry,” Porthos said.

“Then come in and eat.”

Treville found them in the dining room. “Who’s leaving the army?” Four hands shot up, which made Constance giggle. “Excellent. I’ll get on with arranging it. Doctor, I’ll be glad of a lift when you’re ready to go.”

Lemay looked at his wife, then nodded. “Give me fifteen minutes.” He and Constance went out together.

Treville sat and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Speaking as an officer, I’ll be sorry to see you go. As a man, and a friend, I hope, I’m sure this is the right decision.”

“Definitely a friend,” Aramis said, smiling. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

*************************

After Treville and Lemay left, Constance announced to the four of them that they should forget about her medical role until there was a problem, or she needed to give them another dose of the virus.

“And Étienne suggested that you might enjoy something I brought with me.”

“Oh, the many possibilities,” Aramis said with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

“You can be quiet,” she said, to d’Artagnan’s amusement.

The item proved to be a football, and provided they were mindful of the flower beds, Athos could think of no reason they shouldn’t enjoy the fine autumn weather kicking it about in the garden. Constance threw herself into it like the rest of them, and proved to be quite handy at the beautiful game.

His parents came out to watch, and Sarah the maid put out water and glasses for them all. Athos came over for something to ease his throat. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said to his mother.

“I couldn’t mind less,” she said with a smile. On impulse, he bent and kissed her cheek. She put her hand on his face. “Enjoy yourselves to the limit, my boy.”

“Papa, would you care to join us?”

“You know, I think I will.”

To Athos’s shock and delight, his father took gleeful pleasure in kicking the ball about the garden with as much skill as Athos could have mustered, clearly thinking he could teach these youngsters a thing or two. Which he did.

He might not have long to live, Athos thought. But maybe it was possible to pack thirty years’ worth of life into a single year. He was going to try as hard as he could.

*************************

Two days later, Lemay and Treville came down to the house, dropped off some forms to do with leaving the arm, collected tissue samples, had lunch with them all, and drove away again. Treville huddled in Athos’s father’s office and talked to them both in private, and Athos politely pretended not to have a clue what they’d been discussing. It was of no consequence to him—he had as much money as he needed, and while he did, his brothers would as well—but it mattered very much to his parents, especially his mother, and he wouldn’t attempt to dissuade her unless he felt it was taking over her life.

He and his brothers were given one bedroom to sleep in and another to put their gear. His parents raised not one eyebrow at their peculiarities, a tolerance appreciated by all of them. As hard as his mother and father worked to make them comfortable and happy, the four brothers did the same to be good house guests and family. His mother liked Porthos a great deal, and his father liked to debate politics and ethical matters with Aramis. D’Artagnan was content to chip in on any conversation he witnessed and was invited to participate in, and Athos was even more content to watch them all and listen.

Constance could have gone back with her husband, but chose to stay even though Aramis and Athos’s mother could have given them their injections just as well. She and d’Artagnan had become fast friends, and Athos had to admit he had quickly become fond of her too. His parents had kept three horses, and when they weren’t riding with Athos, Athos inveigled Constance and d’Artagnan into joining him.

The slowness with which his sore throat improved was a secret source of hope. He didn’t dare get too excited. But maybe, just maybe the therapy would work.

A week later, Aramis woke up and put his hand around his neck. “Ouch.”

“Ouch?” Porthos asked, rolling over.

“My throat really hurts.”

Athos grinned at him. “Congratulations.”

Doctor Lemay and Treville arrived at the house just as Constance and Athos’s mother were taking precautions against Aramis developing acute pulmonary oedema. He was fitted with oxygen, and an IV port inserted. His condition did worsen, but not to the point where he needed to be hospitalised.

Once he was settled, Lemay took them into the dining room. “Good news or good news?”

“Doctor, don’t torture them,” Treville warned.

“Very well. Athos’s body hasn’t rejected the retrovirus, and there is evidence it’s being taken up into his cells.”

“And?” d’Artagnan asked. Athos was too nervous to ask.

“As far as we can tell, it’s working.”

D’Artagnan whooped and put his arms around Athos. Aramis patted his arm, and Porthos grinned like it was Christmas. Athos’s father smiled wider than Athos could remember since he was a child. “Now we still have to be wary. But Aramis has also not rejected the virus, and you two,” Lemay said, looking at d’Artagnan and Porthos, “have had a much more limited response than we got with the women.”

“So what now?” Athos forced himself to ask.

“We keep administering it to you. And as we manage to work out how to switch off other genes, we’ll administer new versions of the virus. We have twenty-two we must turn off for your long-term survival. We can now turn off five. We have administered this latest version to all the enhanced individuals and the five female subjects. I’ve been able to second four more researchers, and more lab facilities. This should speed things up.”

Athos’s father stood. “Excuse me. I _must_ tell my wife.”

“I’ll come with you,” Lemay said.

Treville folded his arms and looked at the four of them. “Now’s your chance to change your mind about resigning.”

“Hell no,” Porthos said. “We’re not in the clear yet, and if we do find a cure, I’m gonna find something to do that means I don’t have to work for another crooked general.” The rest of them nodded.

“Just checking. I’m very pleased for you, gentlemen.”

“If it wasn’t for you, sir, we’d be dead already. This is all thanks to you,” Athos said.

Treville rubbed his moustache, and tried unsuccessfully to hide his pleasure. “I hope Richelieu is choking on the fact that his ‘insufferables’ managed to evade his grasp and make a better life for themselves.”

Porthos frowned. “Say what?”

“‘Insufferables’?” d’Artagnan asked, scowling. “The cheeky bastard.”

“We are the ‘incomparables’ if we’re anything,” Aramis said.

Porthos leaned back and grinned. “Nah. ‘Insurmountables’.”

Treville smirked. “Intolerables.”

“Inconceivables.” D’Artagnan looked quite pleased with that one.

“No, no. Inscrutables.”

Everyone looked at Aramis in confusion, then Porthos got it a beat before the rest of them. “That’s bad. Really bad.” Aramis preened.

Athos shook his head at his friend. “It’s appalling, and I love it. But I think there’s only one word for us. ‘Inseparables’.” He put his hand out. “All for one?”

“And one for all.”

To his delight, Treville laid his hand on the top of theirs. “And one for all. Well done, gentlemen. Very well done indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is work of science fiction. Real scientific and medical facts have been fused with...utter bollocks :) And absolute no real person or group or military unit - especially not the brave men and women of the real French military forces - is intended to be represented here or defamed. In reality, the Green Berets - the Commandos Marines - would do everything the boys do here without any need to be medically mucked about with. No insult is intended to the real Special forces.
> 
> Some locations are yanked from real places, others are yanked from my fundament.
> 
> I have a sequel in mind :)
> 
> Kudos, criticism, corrections, questions, and comments are craved! Feed the lonely, pathetic author soul and click the pretty button, SVP


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